


new homes

by Carrogath



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Mexico, Mild Sexual Content, Oasis, Politics, Vishkar Corporation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 08:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 66,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10356222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath
Summary: In which a master hacker saves the town, gets the girl, and tears down the establishment.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written in the span of two months, from December 2016 to January 2017, and is presented as-is, typos, inaccuracies, and all. I don't plan on editing it anymore, but I do consider it finished. Rough draft though it may be, hopefully someone out there still gets something out of it.
> 
> Please leave comments and let me know what you think. :)

“¡Conejita! ¡Qué onda!”

“Sombra?” Hana gasped as the encrypted video feed flickered on. She hadn’t been expecting a 1 AM house call, though in Mexico City it wasn’t even noon. She was sitting in bed, headphones plugged in, with a huge _Titanfall_ poster on the wall behind her. Classic.

“Sick game last night, girl.” She grinned. “Haven’t seen a gaming livestream from you in a while. They finally give you time off, the lousy bastards?”

“Mmh.”

“Mmh?” Sombra jerked her chin up at her, mocking her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m being sent to Gibraltar.”

“Gib…” She had to think for a second. Then she whistled low. “Overwatch ask for a MEKA pilot?”

“Don’t you work for Talon?”

“I work for the highest bidder, preciosa. That includes the space ape’s little pet project.”

Hana pursed her lips. “You’d switch sides?”

“Now I didn’t say that.” Sombra nudged a few other windows out of the way to get a better look at Hana’s face. The sensors and cameras in her contact lenses tracked her own eye movements and hand gestures, interfacing with the Web. It made her look stupid to type shit out in midair or on blank surfaces, but only until every smart device in a fifty-meter radius started acting all funny. Then it made her look like a genius.

“Let me guess.” Her dark eyes glinted. “You don’t take sides.”

“Got it in one.”

Distracted, Sombra typed a few commands into one of her myriad windows and brought up Overwatch’s servers. They were blockaded, of course, by a code that was being modified and rewritten every few minutes. Athena was a fully sentient AI, no pseudo- semi- nothing, and hacking over there required an obnoxious war of attrition that she could never set aside the time for. Gabe had physically broken into their servers before the recall to steal some things, but Athena patched herself overnight, rendering it all useless. Anything that she hadn’t manage to swipe during then was off-limits. For now, anyway.

Athena herself was pretty interesting, though. She was a remnant of the pre-Crisis days, comparable in intelligence to the God Programs, and talking to her while trying to sidestep the obscenely complicated algorithms she’d calculated on the fly was always fun. Her processing power wasn’t unlimited, and Sombra had access to millions of hacked devices to force her way in if she bothered to make the effort, but things like DDoS attacks tended to draw unwanted attention—especially the attention of _that_ —so she tried to stick to the small-time. Sometimes all it took was asking nicely, even.

“You know what they want?” she asked.

Hana shook her head. “I don’t really get the details of that stuff.”

“Want me to ask?”

She looked hesitant.

“C’mon, girl. Don’t you wanna know what King Kong and Captain America are gonna do with you?”

“Pff.” She snorted at the references.

“Easy-peasy. I could probably dig it up for you right now. Not through Overwatch, though.” Sombra flicked a finger in midair, dismissed the window with Athena’s logo in the background, lines of code scrolling down the page.

“It’s probably related to the God Programs.”

“Ain’t it all.” She did a Web search, pulled up a few pages about famed livestreamer D.Va, and found several compromising photos in the first few pages of results. Her eyes went wide. “They try to break out every once in a while,” she said, tearing her gaze away. “Your MEKA against their Titans—I mean, I guess it’s fair.”

“Can’t someone like you just shut them all down?” She groaned. “It’s a neverending war against that giant monster thing.”

“Entire world is connected every which way. God Programs don’t just live in one place—they got copies of themselves all over the internet. Quarantine just cuts them off where they’re most dangerous. You can ask people to live without the internet until we can hunt them down and get rid of ‘em all, but I doubt that’s going to happen.”

Hana moved her laptop forward, lay flat on her stomach. Sombra’s eyes strayed to the cleavage peeking out of her shirt.

“Err, Hana.”

She looked at her expectantly. “Hm?”

“You know there’s nudes of you on the internet? Like, just hanging out there?”

Her jaw dropped. “What?” she shrieked, grabbing her computer screen in panic. “Where?”

“Just do any old browser search.” She massaged her temples, then tapped one of her windows and sent one of the photos over. “I can set a virus on these to delete ‘em—just gimme some time to run the image recognition program, on your, uh…” Girl had some nice tits, but these photos were new, not like the ones she’d seen before, that everyone had seen. Honestly, it was just _mean_ how fast they came up. “Anyway, you want me to?”

“Please.” Hana groaned aloud. “Who got into those? I didn’t even save that many!”

“You gotta protect what you put onto your phone, amiga.” She started saving the images—she had to, to run them through the software—but hot damn there were a lot. Too many. The hell was this bitch doing in her spare time? “It’s probably cracked to hell already, getting past all those military protocols, so the least you could do is make it more secure.”

“Fine.” She pouted. She was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. Then she asked, “You think Overwatch will be any good?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Duh.”

Sombra exhaled. “Well, they are pretty damn fine over there. They keep collecting bellezas like Dr. Ziegler and the Amari girl—I mean, Tracer’s ass is tight, I’d hit that too—and you like older guys, don’t you? Morrison might be an old fart, but he’s still easy on the eyes under that visor. Less messed up than Reyes, or I’d tell you to join Talon instead.”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I’d just gotten used to piloting the MEKA, too.”

“Maybe it’ll be fun.”

Hana arched an eyebrow.

“Think of it this way—them sending one of their best MEKA pilots to Gibraltar means that they don’t need you so much in Busan anymore. You know how long you’ll be assigned there?”

She shrugged. “A couple months, I think. Something about…” She blinked. “Fostering… good relations with the international community.”

“Not long, then. And since when was Overwatch considered part of the international community? What’re your bosses thinking?” The dirty D.Va photos were still open. She closed them out, did another quick search for the Petras Act. Did she miss the news somehow?

She gave another shrug. “Plenty of countries are doing deals with them under the table.”

Sombra frowned and smacked her desk. “Oh, come on! They’re like two people! I mean, sure, Dr. Ziegler’s got her fingers in one too many pies, but…” She paused to think. “This about Blackwatch or something? McCree dig up some dirt on South Korea?”

“I’d tell you if I knew.”

She grinned. “Now I’m curious.”

Hana shrank from the screen.

“Oh, so you like it when I mess around with other people, but not with you?”

“Lose the campy eyeshadow, and maybe I’ll think about it.”

“No can do _._ ”

She stuck her tongue out. “Then stay out of it.” She looked up as if in thought. “I mean, I guess I can’t stop you if you really want to do it… But I don’t think it matters in the long run.” Then she looked back at the screen. “And I still don’t trust you.”

Sombra smirked. “Smart girl.” She moved the video feed window to the side, made to close it. “If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.” Hana held a hand out to stop her. “Oh, and one more thing before you go.”

“Yeah?” She raised her eyebrows.

“It’s not really something I pay attention to… But you know Vishkar, the megacorporation that got booted out of Rio by that big pop star, Lúcio?”

“Yeah.” Now that was a name she’d hoped to never hear again. She nodded. “Go on.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know if they were gunning for Mexico… Would you?”

Sombra frowned. “No. One of your gamer friends tell you this? Thought I already dealt with that shit.”

Hana smiled in triumph. “I thought you knew everything.”

“I just say that, stupid!” She clutched her head and groaned in frustration. “The hell is Vishkar doin’ here now? They gonna bulldoze the Zócalo and build one of their huge-ass white dildos on top of it.”

She spluttered in laughter, rolling across her bed.

Sombra wasn’t laughing. “Who told you this, huh, Hana?”

“My friend Chapo,” she said, blinking the tears from her eyes. “I think he used to run with Los Muertos—your old gang.”

“Question is, why didn’t I know about this? I’m right here, dammit!” She slammed a fist onto her desk. “I thought I just…” Maybe it’d be bad intel. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. She pointed toward the camera she was using for the feed, wirelessly connected to the rest of her cybernetic setup. “Hook me up, por favor?”

“Sure.” Hana typed into her laptop, sent her a link. “Be nice to him. He always gives me first dibs on loot whenever we play FF34 together.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” she muttered, opening the link. She’d sent her his gamer profile for FF34, but it was good enough. She sent the guy a friend request and a short message in Spanglish about how she knew D.Va, then linked a couple documents for proof. “Get the pendejo to squeal before La Ciudad becomes Dildo Town.” Underneath the panic, she tried to rationalize to herself that they’d develop the north, first, the shitty part that was always overrun with gangs and drug lords profiting off the addicted Americans, before slinking down to central Mexico. The thought still scared her, though. Those freaky Indians indoctrinating _her_ people? Not a chance in hell. “Muchas gracias, preciosa. And thanks for telling me.”

“De nada,” she chirped, and then grinned and added, “You owe me one.” Before Sombra could ask what, she’d logged out.

She sat down, leaned back in her chair and groaned. Outside the window of her apartment, the bleached Mexico City skyline loomed overhead. Sure, some of the buildings were looking pretty shit, but she’d take anything over the creeping white towers of Vishkar. Even if they only really were looking at the north, there was no telling what they’d do if they managed to sink their teeth into the country. Talon wouldn’t give a fuck.

She thought for a minute. Overwatch?

Nah. For all she knew, Mercy was trying to curry Vishkar’s favor. She figured talking with this El Chapo loser would be a good start. She brought up the link again, skimmed his profile. No response yet. Maybe she’d send him one or two of those D.Va pictures for good measure, after she’d deleted every trace of them off the rest of the Web. How was that for some real “proof”?

Sombra closed out the window, cracked her knuckles and got to work. She interfaced with the monitors in front of her, turning them on, and then the fans in the machines around her desk roared to life. First, save D.Va’s reputation. Then cabrones were gonna get kicked out before they ever set their foot in the door. She would make sure of it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Barely a month ago, Vishkar and LumériCo had been strange (or maybe not so strange) bedfellows. Dorado, her old stomping ground, had been a fairly new development, built from nothing by LumériCo after the start of the Omnic Crisis and abandoned just as quickly. When the thing found her and promised to hunt her down, she closed up shop over there and moved to Mexico City. Los Muertos ate up her anti-establishment shit, and they’d helped her to kill the deal, but all she’d really wanted was to kick up a fuss so she could hack into Lume’s power grid and reroute it to places that mattered. That was easier said than done—the most she’d managed to do was shut it down, and that didn’t help anyone—and her boy Portero wasn’t giving up without a fight.

Lume was making shady deals, sure, but the daily brownouts were getting old too. She backed up her data every few seconds to compensate, but she could only game the system so much. Here in Mexico City she had the best internet service money could buy, and three different apartments under three different names; her best rig was in the nicest one, of course, and there wasn’t much she could do with shit internet, but the cheaper places were for meeting up with contacts, making deals, things like that. She had a few bank accounts—the rest tucked away in cryptocurrency—but she tended to close them after a few months or so, and all online. She never worried about leaving digital footprints, since she always made sure to cover her tracks, but every so often she’d wake up in a cold sweat, wondering if that thing had finally managed to catch up to her.

Talon was always a bitch to deal with, too. When they heard about LumériCo, they asked for nuclear weapons or some shit, so she fucking ignored them, and some poser pretending to be her got murdered for that, or so she’d been told. She had no identity—more like she had ten, or twenty, and some of them were the names of real people, and some were dumbasses claiming to be her for whatever reason—so Talon was gonna have fun hunting her down. She limited her contact to Reyes, most days. He was an older guy, a seasoned professional, and he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Hated working with Amélie, but the brainwashed bitch followed orders to a T. Even if her instincts told her that Sombra was no good, she wasn’t dying by Widowmaker’s hand unless Talon ordered it. By the time Hana told her she was headed to Gibraltar, Talon seemed to have all but forgotten about Sombra. Probably getting distracted by Overwatch or something, thank god.

Vishkar, though, Vishkar was something else. She’d guessed, correctly, that Vishkar had designs on Mexico through Portero, but she’d blackmailed them and leaked their emails and spread their contact information and slandered them to no end. She’d even read the email to him from Vishkar’s CEO, calling the whole damn thing off after Portero was forced to step down.

Sombra took a moment from staring at Hana’s bare body to realize something.

Well, duh. With the new CEO being one of Portero’s cronies, and LumériCo too closely tied to the country’s infrastructure to simply go away, Vishkar had more influence over Mexico than ever. She’d been too busy researching Volskaya to pay much attention to what was happening with Lume lately, but it was embarrassing to get the news from D.Va of all people. Ousting Portero was one thing, but ousting Vishkar was a totally different animal.

“Puta,” she groaned aloud, hunching over her desk. Lume might as well have been small-time compared to them. She didn’t know anyone important in Vishkar, definitely no one she could reach out to; it’d been a failure that had haunted her for years, not being able to make connections in that creepy cult of a megacorp. They were too insular, too incestuous; even the thought of stepping into one of their glistening ivory towers made her skin crawl. (They glistened like _something_ , that was for sure.) They were like the KKK, except instead of the white hoods they had those plastic jumpsuits, and instead of talking about white supremacy they talked about a new world order. She needed a weakness, something she could exploit from afar. If she tried to do anything on her own, they would sniff her out in no time.

Ah, fuck it.

She stared back at her zillion screens, at all the slutty D.Va pictures scattered across ‘em. She didn’t even have to look at them, just needed the hash. Girl had a nice body, loved to show it off—great tits, nice ass, flawless skin, you really couldn’t go wrong—and Sombra loved talking to her, her conejita. Like any good prey animal, though, the kid was cautious. Sombra chatted with her, sent her links to stupid videos and memes, hacked industry servers to leak prototypes of her favorite upcoming games, and all at no real benefit to herself. She was lonely, she guessed, and Hana was cute. Famous as anything, and energetic as a fucking rabbit for sure; she would never touch her, though. Hana was nineteen, but she acted like she was still twelve. Not even legendary nerd and shut-in extraordinaire Sombra was that thirsty.

Once she’d extorted El Chapo or whatever she needed to do, she’d have to start plotting against Vishkar. The authorities were useless, and no one wanted to bully around a megacorporation. Los Muertos didn’t exist in India. She could find some people over there who were similar, she supposed. But she knew shit all about India; she would need someone who lived there, who could figure out what made ‘em tick. Find the next Gandhi or something.

Hana’s pouting face leered back at her.

First things first. Sombra looked down at her keyboard, then typed a couple lines into her shell and opened the image recognition software to run on the hashes. There were plenty of websites that did this already, but Sombra didn’t like to leave tracks—and even for something as simple as this, a little personal touch would have to be involved.

She ran a search, saved the results, then tweaked the settings and ran it again.

So much D.Va ass.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After that was done, Sombra turned her sights to her soon-to-be amigo El Chapo. Chapo was a small fry in El Cuerpo—the top brass of Los Muertos. Hierarchy went from the top of the body down: at the top were the _calaveras_ , the namesake skulls, then there were _brazos_ , _codos_ , _manos_ , _piernas_ , _rodillas_ , down to the _pies_ , petty gang leaders from satellite cells in El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, in Texas and L.A. Chapo had traded in his former lifestyle as a rodilla to become a small-time pro gamer and indie developer, living it up with his buddies in Tijuana and attending tournaments in the States for some of those sweet cash prizes, all in glorious American dolares. He and his dev friends had a little claim to fame themselves, proving that with the help of the internet anyone could pull themselves out of poverty, though they were hardly rolling in the dough. He still had tentative ties to the drug trade, and still made money off of sales, but he swore up and down that after he’d made his big gaming break he was going clean, no more paying bills using drug money, no policeman sir.

Yeah, right. He’d be dead before that ever happened. Chapo was interested in covering his ass—going through extra servers to disguise his IPs, for instance—but not so interested in hacking, it seemed. Sombra checked out a couple of his games for the hell of it; they were just some lame copycat platformers, a half-finished puzzle game that might’ve been interesting if it were ever completed, and a dating sim done for a seventy-two-hour game jam in which you went out with a girl in a bear costume. Hana had noticed the Los Muertos skull as a custom skin on one of his characters, a couple hours before the moderators made him take it down, and told the guy she knew Sombra. According to Hana, he hadn’t believed her. Well, hombre was about to get a reality check.

After he’d finally replied to her messages, Sombra hacked the guy and started screwing with his files to prove her point. He said he knew about Vishkar because the Indians were scoping out sites in the desert, outside of Tijuana. They brought in their hover trucks and fancy measuring equipment, and started setting up these huge holograms, 3D floor plans suspended in space. They’d been weird about it, too, little green space men charting planet Earth, and Chapo and his friends with their good English only managed to get so far as understanding that Vishkar was doing this independently of Lume and Portero. The whole thing sounded sketchy as hell, but when was Vishkar anything but?

He sent her some pictures he had taken that he’d planned to show to El Cuerpo, though Sombra was as good as any calavera in his case. Sombra ran image recognition software on the pics—sharp, thank god for hundred megapixel phone cameras—and matched one of the people in the pictures to some guy named Sanjay Korpal on Vishkar’s public website. Vishkar’s security was nothing like Lume’s, so there was no easy way to get into the site, but there were other places to look up the guy. He’d been involved in Rio, too.

That was when things started to get interesting. Another name came up in reference to Rio—not Korpal, but Satya Vaswani, AKA “Symmetra”. Ignoring the fact that this woman was bodacious—fine as hell culo, and piernas de una diosa to boot—she’d proven herself in Rio and was primed to become the top architect of the Tijuana project. Young, too, at twenty-eight, genius savant, plucked from extreme poverty at birth and groomed to become one of Vishkar’s premier architects. She’d been raised around the technology, and was a natural at it. She’d excelled in her studies, consistently performed at the top of her class, and broke academic records left and right, though due to her lack of experience and some kinda resistance to their hardcore brainwashing, it wasn’t clear exactly what, they kept her in the dark about a lot of things.

Sombra didn’t even have to touch Vishkar servers. All of this was publicly available information. Some of it was just gossip traded around social media websites, but Symmetra had made a name for herself in the Vishkar hive, so people were going to talk about her. Sombra considered creating a new Squeaker handle, fake a Vishkar e-mail address and name, but thought better of it. Knowing them, Vishkar probably had bots to vet those things, and though they’d never find her, she didn’t want them to be looking for her, either. Worse came to worst, she’d have to visit some Vishkar office personally, and she’d wanted to stay as anonymous as possible until then. Maybe she could hit up Chapo, some other Cuerpo, to do her dirty work for her… She’d figure out something.

It was a few weeks into January when Hana contacted her from Gibraltar, using the secure program Sombra had set up for her some months ago. She tried to use as few out-of-the-box applications as possible, and wrote her own when she could; her online presence had to be excruciatingly ephemeral in order to keep up the illusion that she was everywhere and nowhere at once. She’d requested that Hana not use the Overwatch network in case Athena got any funny ideas, so she was outside in some coffee shop somewhere in Gibraltar, for all intents and purposes just chatting with a friend.

“Yo, Hana. How’s the weather?”

She was dressed off-duty, too, in a gray graphic tee with the bunny logo on it and some fiddly little bracelets and things, and her ubiquitous headphones. She wanted privacy, natch. Sitting beside her was a cup of coffee, the price of entry for hanging around.

“It’s pretty warm! For January, at least.” People milled about in the coffee shop behind her, and she could see the main street of downtown Gibraltar through the big windows. Clear blue skies, hardly a cloud in sight. “They have my MEKA stationed at the Watchpoint. I think Winston or Torbjörn’s looking at it?” She raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t really done much since getting here, signed some paperwork, got a physical. Honestly, I don’t know if they know what they’re doing over there, either.”

“Better not tell them you’re talking to me.”

“Nah.” She put her hands behind her head and leaned back in her seat, playing with her hair. “Did you find out anything about Vishkar?”

“They got a hot Indian chick working for them.”

Hana rolled her eyes. “I mean, anything important.”

“Chapo’s right. Got kinda distracted—but looks like they have plans to start some new development around Tijuana. City of Tijuana has been trying to jump-start some new housing projects over there for decades, but drug trade’s still going strong over there. They thought Vishkar could help them clean it up.”

“So this is separate from what was going on with LumériCo, then.”

“Yeah, nothing to do with Portero. More about the Indian chick, though—I didn’t look her up just ‘cause she was hot.” Sombra tapped into her keyboard, sent her a few files. “Check these out.”

Hana opened them up. Sombra watched her eyes as they flickered down to her screen. Her brows scrunched. “Who is this?”

“Satya Vaswani. Nicknamed ‘Symmetra’. And with a name like that, you think she’d be a good girl, right? All about order and perfection and whatever.”

“Let me guess—she’s not.” Hana sent a withering stare into her laptop camera.

“More than that. She’s got questionable loyalties and she’s about to become the top-tier architect for the Tijuana project.” Sombra grinned. “Fell right into my lap, this one. Think they’re trying to make her prove herself. Looks like there’s a lot riding on the Tijuana development.”

“They’re trying to clinch Mexico after the LumériCo plan fell out,” she suggested.

“And they’re pressuring poor little Satya to get it all done. Haven’t hacked into her files yet—but I’m working on it.” Sombra leaned back in her seat and propped her feet up on the desk. “Figure the easiest way is to visit my new friend Chapo in Tijuana. Have to figure out when Vaswani’s gonna show her face, but it makes sense that she’ll have to eventually. Could probably hack into Tijuana’s government database, check the timetables for the Vishkar visits, then figure it out from there.”

“You don’t think it could be that easy, though?” asked Hana. “Even if you talk her out of it somehow, couldn’t they just get someone else to replace her?”

She raised a clawed hand, as if to stop her. “I’m thinking, conejita! Vishkar, they ain’t like other corporations. It’s not just a company; it’s a culture, a way of life. And a fuckin’ terrifyin’ one at that. I might be able to change Vaswani’s mind, but I’m gonna have to force Vishkar out the same way Rio did. And they still got designs on them, you know? Lúcio’s little dance party can’t hold ‘em off forever.”

“Are you going to try to make Vaswani do it, then?”

Sombra laughed. “No way.” She shook her head. “No way José. Not trying to get that one killed. Maybe I can get her to leave, you know, graduate from Mama Vishkar, but she’s only one person in a huge organization.” She clutched her elbows, tapped one side of her head. “Mm… I could hack into their servers and delete all their plans, but they could just draft new ones. If I fake emails and stuff, I’m sure they’d be able to tell.”

Hana sipped her coffee, and then thought for a moment. “Could you just get Tijuana to tell them they don’t want it anymore?”

Sombra blinked. “You know, I hadn’t thought of that.”

She grinned. “Well, now you have.”

“Be peanuts to blackmail the mayor, but I already did that with Portero. Don’t wanna leave no patterns for people to follow.” She removed her feet from the desk and sighed. “Plus Vishkar’s getting desperate, and they might just blackmail ‘im back. Could try to make Tijuana less desirable…” She ran a finger down the side of her face. “Or provide an alternative. If they find someone better than Vishkar to do the deal, then Vishkar won’t press the issue. Bad for business, ‘specially after Rio.”

“You could show them how awful Vishkar really is, for one,” said Hana.

“They probably already know, just don’t care. Tijuana’s right up at the border. Lots of nasty stuff going on over there. Government’s never perfectly equipped to deal with that kind of thing, trafficking and the like, so it’d make sense to privatize as much as possible.” Sombra folded her arms and stared at her screens. “And who knows what else Vishkar has promised, besides new housing.”

Hana paused and sipped at her coffee again. “What are Vishkar developments really like, anyway?”

She shrugged. “Depends on the people running ‘em. Sometimes they integrate into the larger city, and they’re OK. Think there’s a few places in Japan that have adapted well. Sometimes they don’t and they just fall the fuck apart. Some parts of India are a godforsaken mess right now. Vishkar tried to push into Pakistan, caused a lotta tension there before they gave up and left. There’s cultural differences, too, causing pushback. It is what it is; I just don’t like the idea. And fuck man, Vishkar’s just creepy.” She grimaced. “Oftentimes when they set up shop, they just build crap and then leave. That’s when things really fall to pieces. When they provide long-term maintenance and infrastructure—usually ‘cause the other side’s paying them to do that—they do pretty well. But I can tell Tijuana they’re not gonna care about much. Think their real plan is to expand into America, reinvent the suburb. They gonna start talking to American investors, show ‘em Tijuana, say, ‘What if we remade L.A. like this?’ Then, boom.” She clapped her hands together. “United States of Vishkar.”

The other end was growing quieter. Sombra could practically see the gears turning in her head.

“Got anything else for me?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I think you’re better off just fending them off from the Mexican side.”

“Me too, preciosa.” She tapped her fingers on her desk, restless. “I don’t think I know enough to say. Maybe Vaswani can help me out, yeah?”

Hana raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I think you just wanna flirt with her.”

She grinned. “Guilty as charged. How’s Gibraltar, by the way? You know what they’re up to with you yet?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you,” she murmured.

“Your call. If it happens to have anything to do with Vishkar, let me know.”

“I’ll see what I can find.” Hana put a hand on her touchpad and leaned over, as if to log out. Then her brow furrowed. “You don’t happen to know anyone over at Overwatch, do you?”

Sombra grinned dangerously. “That depends on what you mean, conejita.”

“Never mind.” She shook her head. “Talk to you later.” She pressed a key and logged out. The window went dark.

Sombra pinched her chin at her empty video feed. “Wonder what that was all about…”

Ah, well. She rubbed her hands together, ready for another dive into “secure” databases and “encrypted” information. Then she tapped an address into her keyboard. “Www.tijuana.gob.mx, ¡allá voy!”


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Sombra learned on her excursion through the Ayuntamiento de Tijuana directories was that Vishkar already had a building in downtown Tijuana, with the corporate logo on the side of the building and everything. Vishkar had to be quiet nowadays after Lume and Rio; Lúcio had given them bad press. They’d promised to the mayor that they’d cleaned up their act, and nothing dirty was going on, no fires, no blackmail, nothing but honest business. And the funny thing was, as far as Sombra could tell, that was the case. Hitting up her contacts in the underworld, she learned that in fact, Vishkar was steering clear of anyone who had even the slightest bit of tarnish to their name. Who’d she have to thank for that? Satya Vaswani, of course. She’d managed to pull some strings in Vishkar to have a little more power over the deal, and they’d let her. Korpal had the money, but Vaswani had the ideas, and according to the e-mails she dug up, all of this was Vaswani’s doing.

Only problem was, if they weren’t being corrupt, then Sombra had nothing to convince her with. That asshole Korpal had been responsible for the shit going on in Rio, and if things went sour here he’d probably end up in charge again to force the deal through. If Vaswani succeeded, though, it was harder to predict what would actually happen. Tijuana could end up like Sapporo or Beirut, rather than the failures of Hyderabad and Kinshasa, and the woman was definitely banking on that. Sombra had to find something to exploit before talking with her—she really was into the whole law and order thing, more than anyone else over there even—and though she’d done plenty of research, apart from the disaster in Rio there was no reason for her to reject Vishkar. They’d given her everything. They were her Los Muertos; they had given her a reason to live.

She didn’t get the hint that Vaswani was looking to leave, either. Sombra had plenty of dirt on Korpal and on Vishkar in general, but if Vaswani believed she could change things from the inside out, there was no point. She’d had her doubts about Korpal for good reason, but it would take more than that to get her to give up Vishkar entirely. She had to make the situation seem hopeless, grind the girl into the dirt. She didn’t want Korpal getting his grubby little hands on Tijuana, and as far as she knew, Korpal was her boss. If she painted him as a total monster, then maybe Vaswani would think twice before relying on Vishkar for anything.

But if not Vishkar, then who? Some random Mexican nerd trying to tear her away from everyone and everything she loved?

There had to be something else. At her desk, she’d pulled up her Squeaker dumps, terabytes of information on Vaswani that she’d hoarded, promised to herself she’d look through later. Even with an AI to help her sort out the stuff, it took her a while to piece the woman’s life together—girl was supposedly pretty lonely, whether by choice or by Vishkar order. Apparently they didn’t want her gettin’ no funny ideas from outsiders. Vishkar employees whispered that they did it on purpose to protect their princesa, that she was so smart and so talented that they never wanted to let her go, not for life. It was less that Vaswani wanted to leave and more that Vishkar was desperate to hold onto her, and after twenty-some years she had to have noticed. Pobrecita was being shielded from reality, but the illusion was being torn down quick. Couldn’t keep her in the dark forever.

And fuck, that autism thing would throw a real spanner in the works. Sombra couldn’t even be tricky with her because she probably wouldn’t get it. She couldn’t just, like, waltz up to her and tell her to her face that Vishkar was evil and she needed to leave, and even someone as awkward as Vaswani would probably realize that Sombra was being disingenuous if she tried being friendly. Sombra didn’t make friends. Allies, associates, contacts, frenemies, plain ol’ enemies, but no friends. Chica was so up her own ass that she was above having friends, you know? No cuates for the hacker collective.

It would be a cinch to meet up with her—girl was down in Tijuana all the time now to oversee the project—but as good as Sombra was at manipulating people, she had the feeling that her usual set of tactics wouldn’t work on this one. She’d have to be honest. Straightforward. Tell it like it is. Vaswani would have to be the one to stand up to Korpal, and she’d have to make the decision for herself to leave, or else Sombra would have fucking Vishkar on her tail, and there was no way she going to deal with that.

Sombra groaned and slumped into her chair. So Vaswani had her doubts? That meant she was probably trying to access stuff outside of the Vishkar firewall, and there were all sorts of ways to get around that. It was the internet, and someone over there had probably devised a readily available exploit for other Vishkar employees. All she needed to do was figure out her regular haunts, and then send her a little note.

She pulled up the Squeaker dump again and stared at the lines and lines of meaningless bullshit that covered her screens. Why was data mining a thing, again?

“Bien,” she muttered to herself, fingers dancing on her keys. “Una vez más.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

She was dying to talk to someone once she had finally tracked Vaswani down through the World Wide Web—holy shit, she needed to get out—which was good, because once she sent her message through the appropriate channels, Vaswani replied right away. It was pretty clever, too, what she used, a chat server running protocols so ancient that no one would bother to look at it anymore, except maybe for academic research. It took two seconds to create an account and PM her, and she didn’t even have to download anything.

 _Who is this?_ asked Vaswani. _How are you able to access this channel?_

_you ever hear of Sombra?_

_I’m assuming you mean the network of hackers. If so, I am aware of it._

_that’s me_

There was a pause on the other end.

_Sombra is an individual?_

_i’m kinda the one who started it all._

_How can I confirm your identity?_

How, indeed. There was no way for Vaswani to be certain; she didn’t even know what she was looking for. Good thing Sombra planned ahead.

_i’m a hacker. i deal in information. just came to see if you were interested in a little something i have to share._

_You did not answer the question._

_does it matter?_

Vaswani took several minutes to respond.

_You are interested in an exchange, then? What is this regarding?_

_i caught you messing around outside of Vishkar-approved networks. something tells me you’re not always a little goody two-shoes yeah?_

_Explain._

_you want more. you want freedom. you been stuck in Vishkar all your life. you’re ready for a change. am i right?_

_To some extent, I believe that Vishkar is intentionally limiting my experiences and what I am allowed to access. You are correct. How do you propose to resolve this?_

_easy. got plenty of dirt on vishkar you’d never even dream of. should give you some ideas of what you’ve been missing out on._

_How can I confirm that it is accurate information?_

_i think we both know the answer to that._

Sombra had to wait a few minutes for her next response. Vaswani was slow.

_What do you want in return?_

She bit her lip. Patience…

_tijuana. you’re gonna tell me everything you know about the project. including korpal’s involvement. i think you’re a good person, just surrounded by bad people. i don’t want you doing anything you’re gonna regret later_

_Why the concern?_

_mexico is my home country. i don’t want you vishkar people messing with it like you did rio. and you’ve been to the failures. you know it doesn’t always work out. just don’t want that to happen here_

_Are you asking me to stop the project?_

She exhaled.

_no. but i don’t like that korpal guy, and i don’t like vishkar’s track record. just because they don’t ruin everything they touch it doesn’t mean something bad couldn’t still happen. just want to make sure there’s no monkey business going on or i may have to step in_

_That was a threat._

_nothing against you. you’d be upset if something happened to your home too no? have to protect my turf. that’s what good people do_

It took Vaswani a long time to respond.

_You are simply looking for reassurance that no harm will be done to the people of Tijuana._

_yes_

_You will not be satisfied if I simply confirm that it will be so._

_no. i need facts. concrete evidence. need you telling me every step of the way nothing’s going wrong. it’ll be worth it in the end though, you and me working together_

_I do not see any particular reason to trust you, or any value in agreeing to your terms._

_i know you have your doubts. cmon work with me here. you really gonna turn a blind eye to korpal? to all the corruption? is it worth it to feel safe, being lied to? or would you rather know the truth? i got plenty of stuff for you my friend. just say the word and i’ll show you what i got_

This conversation must’ve taken an hour by now going by how long Vaswani took to respond. Sombra’s eyes flickered down to the clock in the corner of her main screen. “11:17,” it read. India was about twelve hours away.

Nothing. Did she leave? Sombra typed into her keyboard.

_Vaswani?_

_This is extremely suspect._

So she was still here. Vaswani kept typing.

 _However,_ _I will accept this arrangement for now. I will see where this leads us, and if I find it detrimental or of insufficient merit to justify prolonging, then I will terminate our relationship. Now show me what you had promised._

Sombra’s lips grew back into a grin. “Mi querida,” she said, pulling up everything she had saved in advance, “sería un placer.”

A few seconds later, and the deed was done.

 _Thank you_ , Vaswani wrote.

“No,” Sombra murmured, “thank you.”

_dont mention it. what are your plans?_

_I assume that as a hacker you already have plenty of information on the development in Tijuana. What more are you looking for?_

_figured you could get me access to the site, just look around. nothing that you wouldn’t show a journalist or someone like that anyway_

Another pause.

_You want to meet in person?_

_too soon? thought it’d be easier to ask for that than for some super secret vishkar intel_

_That is what you are looking for, or else you would not have gone to such lengths to contact me in the first place. Am I correct?_

She swore under her breath. Might’ve been a little too obvious there. She’d meant it as a joke, but Vaswani was taking it literally and now she couldn’t take it back.

_cant get nothing past you. course thats like every hacker’s dream. no one been able to crack the code yet. would be easy to pick a weak link then break the chain. you worried i might betray you?_

_I have reason to be wary._

_i understand. we hackers as sketchy as hell. fine if you dont want to meet. but i got buddies out there in tijuana who can do the job for me. might be better if it’s someone you know right?_

_You would have them trespass._

_i’m one person. news already broke out about vishkar in tijuana in my circles. some of the stuff happening already is out of my control. i can kind of try to corral them so to speak but there’s only so much i can do alone. trying to do as much as i can now_

Sombra sighed as she waited for Vaswani to respond. The clock drew ever closer to noon.

_What will you do to stop them?_

_first off, i’m gonna try to stop them. may not succeed. just how it goes. second, i got some power in los muertos. can tell them i’m trying to take care of it myself. they should know to stop when sombra gets involved. third i’m a master hacker. any bobo tryin to double cross me can expect retaliation. i can say you would rather have me over there than them._

_But you are presumably more competent. Who is to say that you would not cause more trouble than they would?_

She groaned. This was turning out to be a longer conversation than she had planned.

_look vaswani. really got nothing against you. i’ll say it again, all i want is for tijuana to be safe. going there to confirm what youre telling me now. know it’s hard to trust me. but if you hold up your end of the bargain i won’t do anything you dont want me to_

She started having second thoughts about sending Vaswani all the dirt she had collected on Vishkar. She’d left some of the more sensitive stuff out, but who was to say she wasn’t so brainwashed she’d turn it all over to Korpal? But her hesitation was so obvious; Vishkar’s little Squeaker end of the ‘Net talked about it all the time. They couldn’t be lying about that kinda thing, could they?

_Give me one reason why I should not turn all of this information in to my superiors immediately._

“Fuck!” she swore out loud.

 _vaswani_ , she wrote furiously, _thought you were a rebel! that shit’s not lies and slander; it’s real! you know there couldn’t be any other reason for them to hide so much shit from you less they were scared you’d find out_

_And if I am caught with such compromising information?_

_say i planted it to screw you over fuck whatever you know what forget it we don’t have to do nothing_

Her heart hammered in her chest. Fuck, fuck, this was all going wrong!

_You would implicate yourself?_

_i don’t give a shit. you want to go back to your little bubble, not know what’s really going in the world, that’s fucking fine. lie to yourself till the cows come home. see how far that takes you in life_

_Fine._

Sombra blinked in disbelief. She could feel her pulse beginning to slow. “¿De verdad?”

Vaswani didn’t wait for a response.

_Know that Vishkar has the resources to locate and punish you if they deem it necessary, and I cannot ensure you that I will be able to come to your aid under those circumstances. Korpal and his men are ruthless. If you antagonize them, then they will do everything in their power to destroy you._

_yeah i figured. don’t worry about me, i can take care of myself_

_I did not say that because I was concerned for you. I am simply informing you that if your plan fails, then you will suffer the consequences. The fact that you speak so casually of such ramifications suggests to me that you do not fully comprehend the degree to which you are endangering yourself._

The message cut off there, and because the client was so damn old Sombra had no idea whether she was still typing or not. Said she was on, but that could mean anything. She waited.

_Knowing that, will you still agree to an appointment in person?_

Vaswani broke her own record. Twenty minutes. She smiled a bit, then typed back her response.

_yes. when were you thinking of meeting up?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the afternoon went like this: a shower to wash off the past couple days’ filth, then lunch outside so she could pretend she wasn’t a grody shut-in, a check-in with her pal Chapo to make sure he wouldn’t try anything funny until after she’d visited the Vishkar site, housekeeping with Ms. Volskaya, and then, unexpectedly, a call from Hana while she was messing around online.

“Hana?” She raised an eyebrow and closed out the windows she’d been browsing. “What’s wrong?”

Hana blinked into sight on her lens computer, somewhere dark. She could see screens in the background. Funny. Was this the Watchpoint?

“Sombra?” she asked. “You know Dr. Ziegler?”

She cracked a grin. “Ah, mi primer amor. What’s the occasion?”

“What…” She pursed her lips and looked down from the camera. “She seems to think I know you.”

“And she would be right. Good for her, sleuthing it out. She tell you how she found out?”

Her eyes darted left and right. “I think I’m tired of being spied on by everyone all the time.”

“Pitfalls of being famous. Just give up streaming, nena; you’ll never get your privacy back.” Sombra put her hands behind her head and leaned back in her chair, rocking back and forth in her seat.

Hana pouted, but the expression looked more dispirited than usual. “You haven’t been messing with Overwatch lately, have you?”

“Not lately, no,” she replied. “Gotta be some other Sombra doing that, probably someone working for Talon in my name. Got my hands full with Volskaya, Lume and now Vishkar. Might be some Cuerpo from Los Muertos.” She frowned. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Mm…” She pressed her lips together. “You sure? It’s got something to do with Vishkar.”

Her blood ran cold. She sat straight up. “Hana, I swear, tell me everything you know right now. For fuck’s sake, if Talon is working with Los Muertos… Fuck.” She smacked the desk with one hand.

“Nothing Talon-related yet.” Hana shook her head. “Um…” She was quiet. “Hey, Athena.”

A separate screen appeared on Sombra’s interface, this time with Athena’s logo on it. Mierda. “’Sup, Athena.”

“Hello, Sombra,” replied the AI. “I understand you are trying to prevent a Vishkar development from being built?”

“Yup,” she answered through her teeth. “You caught me red-handed.” That was the last time she told Hana anything. “What you wanna know?”

“Overwatch has been looking into Vishkar, as well. Specifically, the Rio incident.”

“Joy,” she muttered.

“Dr. Ziegler believes that our interests may coincide with yours.”

“Oh, yeah?” She leaned over her desk, into her camera, as though Athena could see her. “What’s in it for me?”

“We may be able to provide you assistance with ending the Vishkar development in Tijuana. We may also be able to provide you some measure of protection against Talon, should you ever need it.”

She nodded. “Uh-huh, I’m listening.”

“The requirement being that you provide any information you learn while researching Vishkar to Overwatch in advance of such aid.”

“Err…” Sombra looked away from the camera. “What happens if I say no?”

“It would be unfortunate, but there are no known plans to disrupt your work otherwise. If there are, then Dr. Ziegler has not informed me yet. You are safe for now.”

Sombra sighed. Good ol’ Athena, trying to reassure her. “I dunno if my… contact inside Vishkar is cool with that.”

“Do you mean Satya Vaswani?”

“Seriously, Hana, that’s the last time I’m telling you anything.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “They didn’t really give me a choice.”

“Gotcha. Not blaming you for anything. Athena,” she grunted, “what you doin’ with Vaswani?”

“Nothing. I’m only curious.”

“You ain’t that good of a liar, girl.”

“It would be useful for me to know.”

“Overwatch looking to recruit her?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It would be of great benefit to us to recruit a Vishkar architect, yes. We are always looking for the best and the brightest.”

“Right.” Sombra tapped impatient fingers on her desk. “Where’s Dr. Ziegler? She needs to stop hiding behind so many people.”

“Dr. Ziegler is currently occupied with other matters.”

“Course she is.” Sombra looked away, thinking. “You wanna continue this conversation, you have me talk to her. I’m not goin’ through you.”

“Understood. I will ask Dr. Ziegler when she will be available to speak with you.”

“OK,” she mumbled. “Can I still speak to Hana?”

“Yes. But be aware that your conversation is being recorded.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She flapped a hand. “You’re dismissed, Athena.”

“Goodbye.” The screen closed itself out.

“So,” said Sombra, looking back at Hana. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

She seemed a little abashed. “Sorry.”

“Not looking too comfortable there, preciosa.”

She shrugged. “It’s different, I guess. I’ve been streaming more often since I have the time now, but you haven’t been on much, have you?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Sorry. Been two-timing you with Vaswani.”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “She can keep you.”

“That’s the problem with being a hacker, though,” she said, thinking back to Athena, “nobody ever trusts you. Not gonna ask how Ziegler got you to squeal, just be careful. You might end up with your ass in the fire before I ever do.”

“Yeah,” said Hana. “I get it.”

“Guess I’ll know whatever else I need to know from Dr. Ziegler. Anything I should know from you? You’re not going to Mexico too, are you?”

“I don’t think so. Vishkar would have to bring in Titans or something for me to bother bringing over my mech.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, then.” She was running out of things to say, knowing their whole conversation was being recorded. “How you like it over there? Making friends?”

“I like Tracer.” Hana paused. “And, um…” She nodded, as if she were about to say something but then thought better of it. “Yeah, it’s not too bad. You’re right,” she grinned, “Morrison is pretty hot. And I like looking at Genji. And McCree’s not bad on the eyes either. At least, once he bothers to clean up.”

“Conejita,” said Sombra, “sometimes I think Overwatch recruits based on attractiveness more than skill set.”

Hana was quiet. She looked distracted. “Sounds pretty rough on you,” she said suddenly, “going at it alone.”

“Now I don’t want no pity from you,” she said, frowning. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m just saying.” Hana looked into the camera. “You could get into a lot of trouble if you’re not careful.”

Sombra pressed her lips together. Whatever it was, Hana couldn’t tell her outright. “Tell you what,” she said. “You and me girl, we gonna play some games later. Get that funk outta your system. Boot up your best machine, you and me, one-on-one. Whatever game you want.”

She blinked in surprise. Obviously she hadn’t caught what Sombra was going for. “Um, OK, sure. When?”

“Tomorrow?” She shrugged. As long as it wasn’t while she was over in Tijuana, and that was over a week from now. “Whenever you’re free. Weirds me out to see you so mopey all the time. And I know I’ve been busy, but I’m always busy.” She paused. Fuck, it wasn’t like her to get all sappy about things, but this dumb bunny had been her best friend for something like a year and a half now, ever since the whole MEKA incident, and, well… “I know I’m into the mujeres and all but I feel bad for you, you know? Getting your ass fried by killer robots just because you’re good at Starcraft, I mean what kind of messed-up logic is that.”

“Mm.” Cold as usual. She was used to it by now. “Well, Overwatch knows you’re involved with Vishkar now, so be careful.”

“Naturally.” She winked into the camera. “Just drop me a line when you’re free. Shouldn’t be busy until next next Friday. Hopefully whatever my friend Angela has to tell me won’t be too much of an issue.”

“OK.” Hana waved. “Later, Sombra.”

“Take care, preciosa.”

Sombra logged out and stretched.

Much as she hated to admit it, she was getting sick of talking to people online all the time. She kept a low profile for obvious reasons—Talon was practically the least of them—but being stuck at home all the time was a huge emotional drain. She had ways around the problem of physicality, putas or something, but it didn’t really help with how lonely she felt. Gabe and Amélie were far-flung and hardly friendly, and Los Muertos were, well… not her friends, to say the least.

She tapped a finger on the desk. What time was it? Her eyes flickered over to the clock. 18:45. Time for her second meal of the day.

She stood up and shoved her hands into her pockets.

Figured she could always seduce some jackass over dinner and get it over with.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sombra awoke the next morning feeling like she’d been stabbed between the legs.

“Ahh,” she groaned into her pillow, face tangled in her hair, “me duele el coño…”

If she’d been able to pick a superpower aside from grandmaster-level hacking, it would be the ability to tell what size a guy’s cock was before jumping into bed with him. She pretty much had been. Dude was pretty good-looking, and she loved the way he felt on her—his mouth on her breasts, his hands along her hips—right until he got it up and started ramming it into her, at which point she was reminded of how gay she was and how she regretted this nearly every single time it happened. But fuck, man, it was hard to find a willing woman who wasn’t a prostitute who was also interested in her; guys were less picky and asked less questions and were less work in general to hop into and out of bed with. She didn’t actually _like_ cock, and being asked for oral was usually her sign to get up and leave, but she liked being… handled, for lack of a better word, and the rougher the better. Couldn’t get that with a woman most of the time, at least not the way most guys did it.

After washing the nastiness off of her, she slipped in her earpiece and her contact lenses. She received four messages from Angela asking her to call back—Christ, the doctor had way too much time on her hands these days—and none from Vaswani or Hana.

She was halfway through a breakfast of cold cereal and day-old pan dulce when Angela rang her up, again. Sombra groaned.

She didn’t even bother to leave her kitchen table. “Háblame, doctora.”

“Sombra?”

“Sí. ¿Qué pasa?”

“English, please.”

“Pero me entiendes.”

“Don’t be so difficult. You should have been expecting a call from me after talking to Athena yesterday.”

She groaned and shifted against the table. “Didn’t get much sleep last night. What is it?”

“You’re in contact with a Satya Vaswani? ‘Symmetra’, perhaps?”

“Yeah.” She blinked. Her eyes were dry; she’d had to put in eyedrops to make sure her lenses would stick. The hell did she feel so groggy? “Why you contacting me so early in the morning?”

“What?” There was a pause. “It must be past noon over there.”

“Same difference.” She picked up the bread she’d been eating and bit into it. “Why the interest in Vaswani?”

“She’s been up and coming in Vishkar for years now. Why wouldn’t I be interested in her?”

“Gotcha.” She took another bite. “You know that Tijuana is supposed to be her big break in the company?”

“Correct. And according to Hana, you’ve been talking to her.”

“I talked to her once, Angelita.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You wanna talk to me, you put up with it.” She took a bite of her cereal. “So, what? You want her for Overwatch? Got plans to take over the world, ‘cause I’m sure Vishkar would be happy to hear them.”

“I’m… curious as to what you plan to do with her.”

Sombra put down her spoon and broke into a grin. ”Careful. Whenever you skirt around questions like that, it worries me. You scared for her ‘cause she’s some bird stuck in a cage like your Amélie?”

There was a harsh silence on the other end. “Not now, Sombra.”

“Make up your mind, girl! Thought you had your heart set on Amari Number Two.” She swirled the milk around in her bowl. “Damn, you nearly as thirsty as I am.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m serious too! I’m a hacker for hire, dumbass. Don’t talk to me if you don’t wanna have a difficult conversation.”

“I do think it would be best for her to leave Vishkar,” said the doctor, strained enough to bring out the foibles of her Swiss German accent.

“I like it when you get angry,” she purred. “You gonna start swearing in German for me?”

Angela cleared her throat. Ooh, good save. “Are you going to tell me, or will I have to retrieve the information from other sources?”

She meant Athena. Fuck Winston and his AI girlfriend. Least if she told Ziegler now she wouldn’t go trying to dig up stuff on her later.

“Nothing set in stone yet. Was gonna go over there and check the place out before making any decisions. Who I’m really worried about is Korpal—he’s the bad apple of the bunch. Getting rid of him won’t get rid of everyone, but it’d be a start.”

“Mm,” said Angela. “Indeed. I’ll see if I can find anything for you regarding Korpal.”

“Really?” she asked. “You’re too kind. Not looking for anything in exchange? Could set you up on a date with Widowmaker—”

“No,” she replied.

“She’s not that far gone, you know. Probably still remembers you, especially if her memories of you are as nice as your memories of her.”

“No,” she said again. “Leave Lacroix out of this.”

“I understand.” She stared at the last chunk of bread sitting alone on her plate, and ate the rest before opening her mouth to say, “So. Nothing at all?”

“What are you talking to Hana about?”

She rolled her eyes and sat up in her chair. “We talking about Hana now? Look, I know it seems creepy but we’re really just friends. Helped her out a while back when she was getting used to piloting her mech. That’s it.”

“Really?” She wasn’t buying it.

“She’s just a livestreamer, man. Real cutie, yeah, but it’s not like I could do anything even if I wanted to. She couldn’t really get me into Korea—oh. You’re worried she’s going to help me break into Overwatch.” She tapped her spoon against her bowl. “Can’t help you out there, doc.”

“Will you?”

“Nah. Hana’s the last person I’d ask to do something like that. If anyone does, it’s probably through Talon.”

“That seems like too convenient of an excuse.” Her tone grew husky. Doctor’s voice was gonna be the death of her someday.

“Not up to me if you believe me or not. I wouldn’t go through Hana—don’t wanna pressure the kid. Told you we were friends and I was being completely honest. Her mind’s delicate enough without me forcing anything else on her.”

“Mm…” And now she sounded unsure. Better than suspicious, she guessed. But still not as sexy.

“Not saying I never will, but if you’re worried about me and Hana, don’t be. And Sombra is bigger than just me, you know? If something happens, I might not even be aware of it.”

“I understand.” She heard her exhale on the other line. “Tell me how the meeting with Vaswani goes. I’ll reach out and see if I can find anything for you on Korpal or on Vishkar’s stake in Tijuana. I expect a full report on this later.”

“Yeah, yeah, gotcha,” she muttered. “Ah, by the way, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Hm?”

She grinned. “How’s Amari in bed?” she asked, leaning over the table. “She as good as her mom?”

“Shut up, Sombra,” Angela hissed. She hung up.

Sombra sat back in her chair, clutching her stomach, and laughed. Someone with that much pent-up frustration must have made for an amazing lay. Whoever was doing her now must’ve been lucky—or real unlucky, considering how much of a tightass being a trauma surgeon must’ve turned her into. She’d met the doctor a few times in person, usually for work, and had genuinely liked her, at least as much as she liked pissing her off. Had a weird _thing_ with Amélie, too, and though Widowmaker herself never acknowledged their relationship, Angela was damn well convinced that Amélie could be saved, poor woman. Poor women, really. Sombra was never sure whether she felt sorry for them or just found the whole thing amusing.

Ah, well. What was the phrase Ame always used? _C’est la vie._ Así fue la vida.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Today was for a job she had promised the Mexican government for ages, as part of some bargain they had made with Los Muertos in exchange for one of their leaders being let go early. It was a routine “exploit this security flaw in this American website and give us everything you find” type deal that every world government participated in all the time, cyberespionage crap; she didn’t care about international politics as long as she got paid.

Hana contacted her later in the day, after she was done with her work and was just fucking around on the internet.

“You said you wanna play?” Hana asked, in her room over at the Watchpoint. She looked better today, sitting at her desk instead of on her bed. Either she’d grown a spine or she just forgot about what Mercy did to her.

“Damn right I did. What’re we doing today?”

Hana put a finger to her lips. “Mm… How about a fighting game?”

“Two-player, right? What you mean? Like, Street Fighter?”

Her eyes lit up. “Yeah.”

Sombra scratched the back of her head, where her old implants still wrapped around the base of her skull. She’d had the innards removed so they weren’t touching her brain like they used to, but she still liked the look of them, and she didn’t want people to know necessarily that she wasn’t plugged in all the time anymore. “Which one? There’s like, fifty.”

“Super Street Fighter.”

“Which one, preciosa.”

“Two.”

She blinked. “Two? Super Street Fighter Two? Like…”

“Super Street Fighter Two Turbo. Released in ‘93,” said Hana. “I have the HD Remix version installed on my computer.”

“Super Street Fighter Two Turbo HD Remix,” repeated Sombra. She couldn’t make these names up if she tried. “Damn, that’s not just old-school, that’s like ancient history. You sure you wanna play something so old?”

“It’s not like I’m asking you to play Pong or something.”

She grumbled under her breath. “Long as I can still play Cammy I’ll figure something out.”

Hana beamed. “Awesome! I call Zangief.”

Dios mío. “Lemme find my gamepad first.” She flicked off her camera and started rummaging around her room. She had boxes of wires and old tech she’d accumulated over the years scattered all around her apartment; for all that the world had supposedly gone wireless over the past century, plenty of it was still physical. She dusted off her old gamepad and gave the joystick an experimental wriggle. “Guess this is good enough.” Once she turned it on, she watched as a little notification popped up in the corner of her computer screen telling her it was connected to the machine.

“I like the old games,” said Hana.

“Yeah, but this is a little too old. Hope at least some of her moves are still the same. Thought you were going to say, like, Ten, not Two. Game’s almost ninety years old by now.”

“Not the HD Remix version.”

“I’m sure it’s not that much younger.” She did have it installed on her computer—of course she did, though her playtime was something like two hours—so she pulled it up and waited for Hana to connect. While she was waiting, she looked for a list of Cammy’s moves from Two HD Turbo blah blah. She blinked at the Cannon Spike. The fuck was with that Z-input? Wasn’t it supposed to be a half-circle?

“You ready?”

She raised a hand. “Hold on. I got one question for you.”

“Shoot.” She paused. “You know I’m gonna destroy you if you stick with Cammy, right?”

“You better watch what you say once I start getting hits in.” She shook her head. “Hold on, stop distracting me.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “So. Was there something you wanted to say to me yesterday?”

“Hm?” Hana blinked. Kid had the memory of a goldfish.

She looked up at the camera. “You said some weird things, like, ‘Be careful,’ and… something about being alone, I don’t remember. You just possessed that day or is there something you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh.” She looked away. “Mm…” She squirmed in her seat. “It’s kinda weird, we’ve known each other for so long,” not really that long, though maybe to Hana it felt like it, “but we’ve never met in person. Dr. Ziegler gave me this whole long speech on how I shouldn’t trust you and blah blah blah,” she made a motion with her fingers and thumb to imitate her yapping, “but she seems to know you pretty well, actually.”

“We met before once or twice. Job-related.” She shrugged. “Sombra is in high demand nowadays.”

“So…” Hana looked at her. “Like what?”

“Whatever the doctor wants.” She pinched her chin. Should she tell her about Widowmaker? Nah, the kid didn’t need to know that. “Stuff from Talon and whatnot.”

“Pshh,” said Hana. “You really aren’t loyal to anyone, are you?”

“Only to la gente, camarada.” Sombra tapped her fingers on the desk.

“That means you’ve been to the Watchpoint before?”

“Nope. Never been. Gabe was there before the recall happened, but not me.”

Hana’s eyes dropped down to her screen, perhaps studying Sombra’s face. “You said you were talking to Vaswani?”

“Meeting her in person in a couple days,” she explained. “Gonna try to figure out a plan with her. Talking out of my ass here honestly but hopefully if all goes well, we can move forward.”

“Hmm. Say,” said Hana, looking directly into her camera, “why are you friends with me, anyway?”

Sombra paused. “I don’t wanna say nothin’ to creep you out. But remember a year ago, when I was trying to hack into the new MEKAs and I just ended up hacking into the comm systems instead?”

She looked down. “Yeah…”

“I don’t wanna say I pity you or nothing—I mean, we do have a lotta fun—thought it was fun to mess with you, but I mess with everyone…” She had to think about it. “Is it weird to say I was just bored? Lonely? Whatever you wanna call it?”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Isn’t that why you do anything? Because you’re bored?”

“Kinda. I have the whole ‘fight the power’ thing going on too, but mostly I just like messing with people. Gotta short attention span.”

Hana clutched her joystick, fiddling with it. She ran her fingers up and down its length. “Mm…” Her other hand tapped the buttons on her gamepad. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Why?” The word slipped out before she could choke it back. Their relationship had always been kinda weird, long-distance but intense in the way that close Internet friendships tended to be. She knew more about Hana in some ways than the girl’s own parents did, and on some days the girl disclosed fucking everything to her, just some stranger halfway across the world.

Hana pushed her gamepad out of the way and leaned over her desk, tapping fingers on her keyboard. “I guess the problem is… I don’t know who you really are.”

“¿Qué?” She knew she was making a face.

Hana looked up at the camera. “I mean, I don’t even know your real name.” She pushed herself upright. “You’re always just… Sombra. The word even means ‘shadow’ in Spanish. Like you’re nobody.”

“Luz is a real name in Spanish and it just means ‘light’.”

“You know what I mean,” she grumbled. “You’re hiding something.”

“I’m hiding plenty,” said Sombra, taken aback. “You never complained about this before.”

“I mean… I never really thought about it until after I started talking to Dr. Ziegler. Seems like you’ve been all over the place, lately.”

“You’re not exactly wrong.” Sombra looked at her gamepad and pushed it out of the way. “But talk to me. What’s the matter?”

“That’s exactly it,” she said. “I don’t know who you are.”

“I’m a Mexican hacker and former member of Los Muertos. Like, that’s all there is to it. Got no secret identity nada. Even if you tried to look things up, I had to delete it all to protect myself.” She sighed. “I was born a nobody, anyway. Sombra is who I am—who I made myself out to be. You some poor kid during the Omnic Crisis, you don’t get much offered to you. I’m a self-made woman. A go-getter. There are people who still remember me obviously, but I got programs out there deleting stuff about the old me every day. Um…” She looked down. This was getting weird. “I mean if you think I’m unsafe to be around or something, I guess I can’t help you out with that.”

“Well,” Hana looked into the camera, and then looked away, “I knew that, but… Do you know who you are?”

She laughed. “Fuck you, bitch. I know exactly who I am.” She grabbed her gamepad. “Enough with the small talk. Now let’s play.”

Hana grinned. “You’re going down.”


	3. Chapter 3

The 22nd arrived faster than she’d anticipated. She spent way too much time stalking Vaswani, started to feel less like a master hacker and more like a secret admirer, and some things she learned about her she didn’t care to retain. Learned more about Vishkar’s politics than she ever wanted to, too—that while Vaswani wasn’t outwardly rebellious, she was sneaky, surprising everyone with just how intuitive she was despite the whole autism thing. Girl was freakishly determined to learn, thirsted for her freedom outside the Vishkar coop, and drowned out the white noise with sheer moxie. It didn’t come naturally to her, figuring people out, but she could put two and two together and puzzle things out for herself. She was independent, a problem solver—maybe even a threat to the Vishkar hivemind. She had only talked to her once, but the more Sombra learned about her, the more she started to like her. Buenísima, claro, but there was more to her than that.

And, of course, there was always the possibility that Vaswani was way better at lying than she was letting on and planned to turn her in, or that she hadn’t been talking to Vaswani at all and Vishkar was about to pop her dead once she got there. Someone who wrote like that, though, had to be at least as obsessive as Vaswani, because damn, that went from beyond meticulous to just plain awkward. She speak like that too? Probably.

She packed for a weekend trip, one briefcase for her clothes and the other for her laptop and a few other necessities. Talon had only contacted her once in the past few days to ask about Volskaya; it wasn’t exactly suspicious since they were always doing God knows what over there, but it was healthy for her to be at least a little paranoid about things. Lucky for her (or maybe not so lucky, she would learn soon), Vaswani had promised to take care of everything. It was really just some mound of dirt in the desert, the development site; nothing had gone up yet. It was another thing to be given a tour by one of their premier architects, although hers was unofficial. Sketchy, just the way she liked it, and not what she would have expected from Miss Law and Order. Almost seemed too good to be true, the whole “good girl gone bad” act.

She’d hacked herself clearance for all the sensitive stuff in her luggage—security was mostly automated nowadays anyway—but she really hoped she wouldn’t have to use any of it. Her trafficking days were over. No more getting her hands dirty, pumping people full of bullets for addicts’ money, for stolen goods. It’d been brutal; she’d been in the minority as a woman in a male-dominated gang, and she’d had to prove her worth, scrape her way up to the top. Los Muertos had been what had led her to Talon, and she and her big head had been stupid enough to believe she could handle it. In some sense, since Talon was so impersonal, it was a little easier, but it was also disgusting in the most horrifying ways. Amélie and Gabe worked together not only because Talon asked them to, but also because they were stuck on the same boat in the same circle of Hell and fuck if she did not feel sorry for them. That thing had been connected to Blackwatch which had been connected to Talon; it was all one big conspiracy, literally, but she knew how to pick her fights and this was not one of them. Vishkar? Yes. Talon? No. The camo and the translocator were for quick escapes, sneaking around, designed to avoid direct confrontation. Cojones de acero she had not. And maybe it was just a result of old age, but guilt was something was feeling a lot of these days.

She passed airport security fine, fake ID and everything, chatted up the omnic barista at the coffee stand while waiting at the terminal, bought the coffee, drank the coffee, watched the news, read the news; man, the airport was boring. She was too jittery to do any work, and didn’t want to use the public wi-fi to do it anyway, so she looked up some annoying gossipy shit about Hana and then sent it to her for kicks. Even considered calling Mercy just to piss her off, though the woman was usually so busy she wouldn’t expect her to answer. She had the doctor’s work number and her tag on Cacophony—she didn’t have the time for video games far as she knew, but Angela knew enough nerds to consider creating an account—and saw that she was online, so she sent her a PM.

Ziegler didn’t respond. Ah, well. Probably shouldn’t have expected it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The plane ride was short and uneventful. She checked into her hotel downtown—she could see the big ugly phallic Vishkar building from her hotel room—and let Vaswani know she’d arrived. The hotel was clean, modern, four-star so pretty nice; she had the money so why not spend it. Room was a little small for the price, but the bathroom had one of those fancy shower heads that were embedded in the ceiling, so the water came falling down on you like rain. There was a TV, a balcony and plenty of desk space, and the bed was a queen. Her special luggage, well… The briefcase was both extremely secure and hacked to hell; the thing scanned her iris before unlocking, and in the event that that didn’t work, the passcode was her birth name. Not that most people knew it, or knew how to find it. She’d dedicated years of her life to erasing her former identity.

_Sombra._

The message appeared on the lower left of her lens screen, from Vaswani.

_that’s me_

_You are in Tijuana?_

_yep, just arrived_

_I understand. The site is about twenty kilometers east of Tijuana proper, between Tijuana and Tecate. Quite frankly there isn’t much to see right now—though I must show you the blueprints. What was once an industrial park in the desert will become a flourishing, technologically advanced neighborhood._

_right_

_Do you still intend to bring an end to the project?_

_depends on how well you can convince me. don’t want to cramp your style, but you got a lot of work to do before i start believing vishkar ain’t all bad_

_You do not appear to believe that I am a “bad” person._

_no, but you’re kind of the exception. a rebellious spirit. hard to believe everyone in vishkar is like you_

_You may be correct. Are you ready? I have prepared us transport. It is Vishkar-owned, so do your best not to appear suspicious._

She smiled a bit. Ouch.

_I have allotted us three hours’ time today. If you require more, then I will see if my schedule might allow for it in the future. Please let me know when you are ready._

_ready when you are. just at the hotel_

_Is that so? Then I will be there straightaway._

It was barely twenty minutes before Vaswani messaged her again.

_I am here. Please come downstairs. Our transport is waiting._

Sombra took the elevator downstairs, nervous and unarmed. Her camo and translocator required that she wear a particular and easily recognizable outfit, so she decided to forgo it for now and dressed as normal as Sombra ever dressed—cross between a technicolor disaster and some shifty cyberpunk drug dealer. She stepped out of the hotel onto the street.

Satya, was, well.

Impeccable, was the first word that came to mind. She put the thought away, folding it and tucking it in the corner of her mind like a precious paper note, and then looked the woman in the eye.

“It’s me,” she said. “Sombra.”

Impeccable and completely impassive. Vaswani had a stone-cold face as she sized Sombra up and down on the street. Her expression suggested that she thought little of her, though Sombra knew better than to go just by her face to tell how she was feeling. Behind Vaswani was a shiny white hover van with the Vishkar logo on it. No driver.

Sombra looked at the van, and then looked back at her. “You sure it’s safe to take that thing?”

Vaswani’s head maybe budged a centimeter as she responded. “It will be, as long as you behave as though you belong in it.”

She grinned a bit. She couldn’t tell if Vaswani was being harsh on purpose or if that was what she seriously believed. “Well, take the lead.”

The doors of the van slid open, and Sombra sat on the far side of the van, in the middle row between the driver’s and the back seats. White and blue, like the colors of Vaswani’s dress. The leather seats were a cool gray tone, but the cup holders had a faint blue glow to them, and there were white accents and smooth, rounded edges everywhere. The dashboard was one huge, flat display that flashed the Vishkar logo. It smelled clean, sterile, sort of like Chanel No. 5 but devoid of what made that one classic, and Satya sat in the same row with her. Sombra assumed there were cameras and microphones in the van, and didn’t even bother to check.

They were quiet as the van made its way to the site. Satya sat perfectly still—that was all she could think of her as, _perfect_ —and though her eyes made those little micro-movements, she seemed happy to sit there and not say a word. Probably better that they didn’t speak, too, or else Sombra might say something that would give her away and the whole thing would be over. So she stared like an idiot, eyes flickering over her form, wondering if Vaswani even cared, even realized what Sombra was doing.

She had no words to describe Vaswani in the flesh, in any language that she knew, and it only took a few seconds of staring to realize that she was totally fucked.

“We’re here,” announced Vaswani. It was as though the whole ride took no time at all.

Sombra got out of the van. It was desert, plain and simple. There was some scrub and saguaros; gray-green shrubs and bushes; and in the distance she could make out mountains and... not much else, really. Here the ground was pretty flat and dry and yellow-orange, just rocks and dirt. Besides that, there stood a couple of old dilapidated warehouses with their tin roofs coming off in the wind, suggesting this place must have been home to something before it all died away. On the actual site were these little white orbs, with thin blue lines connecting them. There must have been dozens of those, maybe even in the hundreds; the little alien probes were all over the place. More of those Star Wars vans parked around, too, and some weird sleek pods that looked like unopened flower buds. The most unsettling part about it was the lack of life. Plenty of life to be found in the desert, but for some reason here it just seemed… lonely.

Vaswani got out of the van a little after her. When Sombra turned to look at her, she had an armored glove of sorts on her left arm that went all the way up to her shoulder. That, she knew, was like Sombra’s own interface—cybernetic augmentation that fell short of a true implant, since it was removable. Vaswani opened and closed her hand, then flexed the joint of her elbow.

Once she was satisfied, she cleared her throat and turned to Sombra. “I realize that right now it appears to be quite dull. However,” she strode up to one of the little orbs and held her armored hand over it, “watch.”

Her arm rose, and with it, every little white orb floated up into the air. The flower pods bloomed open. The vans stayed put, but Sombra almost didn’t notice because as soon as everything started moving, 3-D images started forming in mid-air out of nothing. An entire fucking neighborhood rose out of the dust, all bathed in a blue, diaphanous light.

Wait. That couldn’t be right.

She blinked at the first house that materialized in front of them, one story high with the walls all transparent so the insides were visible, and then turned back to Vaswani and pointed. “You seeing what I’m seeing?”

“I believe so.” Vaswani beckoned her forward with an elegant flick of the wrist. “Come. There is more to see.”

Not just houses, but roads, sidewalks, even a few fake cars and people ambling along the streets. The houses were modern—still Vishkar—but not their usual white igloos, the prefabs that went up in a day. They looked like regular square houses, tiled roofs and little Spanish archways, spruced up with solar panels curved to mimic the terracotta typical of Latin American architecture. Walls were covered in stucco siding and pathways lined with holographic desert flora; there were no fountains or nothing like that, either, which was nice. Houses were spaced out like a North American suburb, narrow streets and wide sidewalks more suitable for foot traffic than cars. There was a certain sinuousness (very Symmetra, she thought,) to the way the front yards and streets were laid out, rounded edges and cul-de-sacs curving in around one another, and it complemented the colonial motifs and their vaults and half-circles.

In a word it was, well, beautiful.

Her second thought was that it was spacious. Very American dream. People weren’t being packed in like sardines; everyone had their own nuclear-family home, their own little patch of land away from their neighbors. Vaswani watched her attentively, as if she wanted her opinion but was too embarrassed to ask.

“Looks expensive,” said Sombra, once they had come to a stop. “Who’s gonna pay for all of it?”

“That is your concern?” she asked.

“Gorgeous, yeah,” she said, “but not something normal people would be able to afford.” Building the solar panels into the roofs had been smart, and the lack of pools and fountains and shit meant that she hadn’t ignored the fact that they were in a goddamn desert. It looked almost too nice, though, unlike the crappy housing developments Sombra had grown up in. A far cry from the promises of a snow-white, dildo-spangled Rio, and she could think of a lot of Mexicans who would love to live in a gorgeous neighborhood like this and not have to move to the States.

“Vishkar has money to spare,” she said, as if they would be so willing to give it away. “If that is what concerns potential homeowners, we could persuade local lenders to lower the interest rate or provide longer-term mortgages.” Seemed like a fancy way of saying they’d bribe ‘em to help out poor folks. “We have done it for Sapporo and Beirut at least, and so far few of those residents have managed to default on their loans.” OK, maybe not so poor. That would explain Hyderabad and Kinshasa.

“That part of your plan?”

“That long-term stewardship toward our clients has been key to every successful Vishkar development,” she said. “It should be a requisite for every contract. I…” She looked away. “I have plans to construct all of this, and am prepared to discuss the matter with local authorities for however long is necessary, but I am not certain I will be able to acquire the funding to develop the plan as-is. I am not particularly practiced at financial matters, either. That is Sanjay Korpal’s forte.”

That greedy bastard. Sombra didn’t know enough about real estate and whatever to guess how much building this stuff could’ve cost, but it was well-documented that Vishkar cut corners in so many fucking places that they definitely had the money to build an actual nice housing development. These buildings were probably made from even better stuff than they looked to be made out of; Vishkar was a leader in materials science and prided themselves on their fancy eco-friendly prefabs. These cute little ranch houses and their patios and cactus gardens outside—the more she thought about it, the more she figured, hell, why not give ordinary people big houses? She wasn’t used to seeing pretty neighborhoods like this, especially after the Omnic Crisis had destroyed it all. Was about time they started putting things back, and if the only thing stopping them was plain ol’ corporate greed…

“Mm,” she grunted. “Could probably afford it, to be honest.”

“He is…” She paused. “Not willing to compromise. I have been trying to negotiate around him in my own ways, but I am afraid my efforts will mean little in the end. My superiors want me to prove myself to them, but despite my endeavors I believe that they will do whatever they had intended to do on their own, without my input.” She balled her armored hand into a fist. “I have come so far, only to see that my struggles, and my desires, appear meaningless to them.”

“That’s not fair,” said Sombra.

“But without them,” said Vaswani, “I am nothing. I can do nothing without their technology; I may impress them, but my achievements are merely petty. I feel as though they praise me and my plans only to bastardize them to their own ends. Whenever I attempt to contribute, the finished product never emerges unadulterated. It is as though they are telling me they do not favor my ideas, and yet they would not have me leave.”

Vaswani clapped twice, and the pods closed up and the orbs collapsed. The whole neighborhood disappeared in a blink. Nothing left but dry, lifeless desert.

A million thoughts ran through her head of how she could respond. She had put in hours and hours of reading about this woman; she knew why they were treating her that way, could think of a thousand reasons. They all just seemed so… empty, though. Satya was stuck. That’s all it was. Satya was stuck in a company that didn’t appreciate her ideas or value her for who she was; they clung to her even as she started to realize they didn’t care, because they realized that her ideas were actually dangerous. Satya was better than Vishkar. She was better than their top-tier architects because she had a heart; her concepts weren’t cookie-cutter soulless.

And now they had offered her the Tijuana development because they realized she was figuring all of this out just now, and didn’t want her to leave for some other company or God forbid start thinking for herself. They’d look at her beautiful, elegant, and humanistic plans, then dump them for something cheap and shitty and harmful because Korpal would say he couldn’t rustle up the funding, because Korpal was a selfish asshole who had never respected her once, and because she was only one person in such a huge corporation, she wouldn’t be able to do jack shit about it.

It made Sombra genuinely angry.

She turned on her heels and looked at Satya. “Don’t put up with that shit.”

Satya blinked in surprise, startled.

Her fists clenched and unclenched. Her entire body felt so wound up she could barely move. “You heard me. Don’t listen to those fucking bastards. Do what you want.”

“You’re not making any—”

“I know I’m not making any sense!” Sombra snapped. “I’m just pissed off. OK? You create _this,_ ” she said, flinging one arm out to the empty desert, “and they’re gonna ignore it and replace it with some… shithole that’s half the size and a tenth of the price. You put in all this work and all this time—you devote your life to this—and they’re not gonna do jack shit about it!” Her voice cracked. “I’ve read all about you. I’m your creepy fucking stalker. I know your situation is completely fucking hopeless; I know what everyone says about you. I know why they want you to stay, even though they won’t listen. Corazón, mi vida, they are scared!”

Satya shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Sombra took a step toward her. “You heard me. They are scared of you. They don’t want you givin’ the others no ideas. They just some greedy, soulless organization; they don’t care about real people. They care about puttin’ money in their own pockets. You ain’t like that. You came from poverty, you understand what it means to just want a decent fucking house with a solid roof and plumbing and semi-regular electricity. Those pendejos ricos? ¡No entienden nada! Absolutamente nada. They don’t understand anythin’ but the bottom line. I feel for you, you know!” Satya looked terrified, but she went on anyway, she’d fucking lost it at this point, “You deserve better. And I don’t know how or why, but fuck all if I am not pissed for your sake. I…” She looked away. Then she groaned and slapped her forehead. “I have talked to you all of once.”

Satya visibly relaxed as she herself did.

“Fuck me,” said Sombra. “And Vishkar probably recorded all of that.”

“Unlikely,” said Satya, her voice firm but quieter than usual. “These vans are all offline, and we are too far away from the one that we rode here for it to record you. None of the other devices are capable of recording your voice.”

“Well then,” she grinned a bit, “good to know.” Shit. That was awkward. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking up at her, and Satya seemed to understand her and believe her, but the damage had been done.

She thought Sombra was a total fucking psycho.

Satya made eye contact with her briefly, then looked away in discomfort. “Are you done?”

“Yeah. Terminada. Sorry. I…” She wilted. “Got a little carried away there.”

“I understand that you are angry on my behalf,” said Satya.

“Uh-huh. Definitely.” Irrationally so, she thought to herself.

“You have no reason to be so concerned,” she said.

“No good reason,” she chuckled.

“What would yours be, then?” she asked, so oblivious she couldn’t have possibly guessed the answer.

Fuck me, she thought. Only a stalker falls in love from afar. She wasn’t about to tell Satya that.

Sombra groaned and covered her face. “You’re a smart cookie. I believe in you. You can figure it out for yourself.”

Satya was quiet. “You are going to make me guess?”

“I’m sure as hell not telling you of all people.” Sombra let her hand slip off her face and looked at her. She looked so genuinely confused that Sombra cracked a grin. “Uh. Don’t worry about it if you don’t get it right away. What I mean is, you don’t have to take this lying down, you know? I don’t… know how to help, yet. But you sound like you want it. And I wanna help you. So, forget about all that bargaining stuff for now.”

“But—”

She waved her hand in dismissal of the topic. “Think about what you want to do, and then tell me. Got lots of resources at my disposal. Even Vishkar might think twice before trying to handle me. They don’t call me Sombra for nothing.”

She looked uncertain.

“I got what I wanted,” Sombra explained. “I wanted to see what you had to show me, and I saw it. It’s up to you from here—I can’t do nothing without your approval.”

Satya bowed her head, looking up at her. “You are giving me a choice?”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like anyone else will, so let me be the first.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I…” She looked to the side. “I will have to consider this, first. I am uncertain as to what to make of your proposal.”

“Got plenty of time,” said Sombra. “I’ll be doing other stuff in the meanwhile, so don’t worry about me. Once you let me know what you want to do, we’ll work on it together. All right?”

“Why?” Satya said again. “I don’t understand why you are offering to help. Are you still interested in the Vishkar intelligence?”

She shook her head. “Nah. Not really.” She really believed herself at the time. “I just want to help you. And if you don’t understand, well, not my problem I guess. Take it or leave it.”

Satya was silent.

“I believe our time is almost up,” she said, finally. “Allow me to take you back to your hotel.”

The ride back was dead quiet. Satya didn’t look at her once, and Sombra wasn’t staring at her anymore. Once they got to her hotel, Satya didn’t get out of the van, either. All she did was nod at her once.

Satya rolled down the tinted windows to speak once Sombra was outside the hotel. “I hope you found the plans satisfactory,” she said, in a clearly practiced manner.

“Oh, yeah,” said Sombra. “Blew my expectations out of the water, to be honest. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She waved at her, and then the windows rolled back up. The van glided back into the city traffic, silent as a specter.

Sombra went back up to her hotel room, lay on her bed, and then rolled over and punched her pillow. “Hijo de la chingada,” she muttered. Son of a _bitch_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She must have spent a good hour at least just lying there, trying to take everything in—though mostly Satya, the girl she had been stalking for the past month. She didn’t know what to expect, and in some ways she still didn’t. The whole trip had felt… lonely. Impersonal. No driver for the van, no people on the site, no one but Vaswani. Even though there was a building here, it felt like there were no Vishkar people here in Tijuana at all. She’d always imagined Vishkar as these psycho authoritarians, like Nazis or clone troopers or something, everyone looking exactly the same, acting exactly the same, stripped of their individuality. This had almost been worse. It wasn’t a bunch of similarly dressed people going around probing things; it was a single lonely soul setting up her robots and letting them roam about, gather information, and return it back to her. How often was she alone, then? Between Vaswani and Korpal, and a handful other names that Sombra came across, it seemed that Vishkar wasn’t actually that big—or at least, that populous. There were plenty of people living in their communities, yeah, but those people weren’t Vishkar employees. They hired contractors and stuff, but being a permanent employee was a big deal in Vishkar; they grew their own.

Vishkar had never been a big proponent of omnics; their machinery and AIs and androids were all created in-house. For such a big multinational corporation, though, they didn’t have too many people on-site. Most of it was done by, well, robots. Part of the reason the Omnic Crisis had happened in the first place was because people were relying a little too heavily on machinery and automation to get anything done. How much of Vishkar was like that? How much of Vishkar was a handful of people who could fix machinery, who were creative types or financial types, who handled the money and who handled the concepts, but who had no personal connection to their own creations? Was that the reason why they could be so callous toward the communities they were trying to create? Because it was all being done by machines?

She rose an arm off the bed, started typing in the air. She must’ve looked this stuff up before; maybe it just didn’t stick. Some of the information Vishkar was forced to release to the public, numbers and stuff. They had about fifty thousand employees worldwide. Job openings? Businesspeople, programmers, engineers and architects. Lotta computer people, actually; they were heavy into AI. If not, they were looking for people to help them improve their machines. And as for Vishkar news? They were trying to design AIs who could _design_ their own blueprints. They were trying to automatize Satya out of a job.

Ironically, this should have made things easier for Sombra, since robots had computers inside them and all, but seeing everything so sterile and lifeless, seeing what Satya had created for herself—a little community with virtual families with virtual yards and cars—had stirred something inside of her. Vishkar, it was a culture of convenience, of automation. Of instant gratification. Everyone getting what they need, cheaply and easily. But Satya complained about not getting enough money. It was an illusion, what they promised. They had to cut corners, compromise in dishonest ways. Suck up to the investors. Satya’s little rebellion was nothing new. She hadn’t had an epiphany one day and started doing things differently right then. She had always been working against Vishkar, through her concepts and designs. She had always been trying to gain respect, and she was finally getting it. Little by little, but she was getting it.

And now, Sombra was telling her that Vishkar was a hopeless case, and that she should give up and leave. That the big ugly megacorporation was never gonna change, that nothing could be accomplished from the inside out, and that she’d just been deluded by their claims of bringing harmony and order and whatever to dirty, impoverished places. That Vishkar didn’t deserve her—even though she was exactly what they needed.

It made her head hurt. Really, everything did. She felt stupid for having these delusions of what Vishkar was like; as a hacker, she should’ve known better than to believe what non-Vishkar people said about them and stuck to the facts, but the reality was even harder to swallow. Just because the Omnic Crisis happened, it didn’t mean that jobs were going to suddenly start flooding back into the hands of the people again. Companies like Vishkar were going to continue doing whatever was cheapest and easiest. They would replace even their best architect with a robot, if they could.

The thought was fucking terrifying. It brought her right back to the Thing, and the Thing made her break into a cold sweat.

This was some John Henry shit going on right here. Satya had something to prove, and Sombra was gonna help her do it. She knew why she hated Vishkar, why she hated other big corporations and corrupt governments; they didn’t care about nobody but themselves. But unlike Sombra, who’d only been concerned with tearing them down, Satya had designed ways to build them back up. Maybe too idealistic, too costly to provide to the common man, but so heartfelt, so true, you couldn’t blame the girl for being obsessed with order and perfection, because to her order and perfection were everything. It was happiness. And why shouldn’t Vishkar aim for that? Why bother with compromise? Why’d everything have to be about money and convenience? Sombra wanted to tear shit down, but she didn’t have a plan for what came next. Satya, though…

Well, Satya deserved nothing if not a place where she could be happy, and damn it if that place didn’t exist somewhere outside of her head.

Sombra rolled onto her stomach and started typing into her bedsheets. She wrote a message to Vaswani: _leaving vishkar don’t mean you have to give up. but staying don’t mean you have to give in. got your back all the way, whatever you decide._ She paused, and then added, _give em hell girl._

 

It was one in the morning when Sombra received a response, blaring white in one corner of her eye. She pulled it up and read it, and figured she must have been dreaming once she did, because Vaswani’s response was: _Are you available tomorrow?_

“Para ti,” she murmured as she typed her response, “cuando quieras.” Hell, she’d pack up and move to Tijuana if she asked.

 _Excellent_ , wrote Vaswani. _I will see you outside your hotel at nine o’clock._

She blinked. OK, then.

_it’s a date_


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Ziegler was messaging her at seven in the morning and hell if it was not obnoxious. Sombra got up early for Satya, and Sombra didn’t get up early for anyone. She was groggy; she was grouchy; she was starving—was never eating enough these days, it felt like—and just because the doc had talked to her once in the past couple weeks she thought she owned her or something. Girl be deluded if she thought Sombra was on call for her twenty-four seven. She didn’t like her that much.

She showered, dressed, put in her lenses and earpiece, checked a couple things with Los Muertos and a few of her other contacts, and made damn well sure she had all her facts straight before talking to Vaswani about anything. She was quick to come to conclusions on her own—she had to, working off of intelligence—but she’d been so wrong about Vishkar and for so long she had to double-down before making any moves. Big reason for that was probably the lack of personnel. Fifty thousand employees, but it felt like there were twice as many working over there. How many of those online personas were really robots? How much could Sombra really know if half the internet wasn’t even inhabited by people anymore?

Just how old was she getting, anyway? Didn’t have nothin’ against omnics and machines, but she couldn’t blame the protesters. How else were people supposed to get paid? Things be going this way, soon they’d all wake up and find out they’d been plugged into the Matrix.

She had a little time for breakfast, so she grabbed something quick from downstairs. It was exactly nine o’clock when Satya messaged her: _I’m here. Where are you?_ She kept the message open as she walked to the front door of her hotel, and looked up.

Flats, pants, a tunic sort of thing with the simplest of geometric designs running down the sleeves and on the front. Satya loved those colors, blue and white, but the outfit was a bit less leggy than yesterday’s. Other than that, though, diosa was looking as godly as ever. How’d she get her hair to be so smooth?

“Hey,” said Sombra.

“Good morning, Sombra.” She could use some work on her inflection. Maybe sound a little friendlier? She looked around. “Despite having visited several times in the past year, I am not yet familiar with this area. Are you?”

She opened her mouth. “I was kidding about the date thing,” she wanted to say, but instead she said, “I’ve been to Tijuana a few times. What…” Her brow creased. “What did you want to speak to me about, exactly?”

“Vishkar,” Satya said simply. “I was hoping to select a neutral location in which to conduct our discussion.”

Sombra thought. The hotel room? No, that was definitely not neutral. There were shopping centers around here and stuff. She realized the only reason Satya was asking was because Vishkar would be listening in wherever Satya usually went, and though all of that was probably filtered down through programs before it ever reached a real person, their conversation would be loaded with alarming phrases. But Tijuana?

“Um.” She looked around the city streets. That was what her trusty interface was for. “Hold on a sec and I’ll look for a place.” Maybe they could just get breakfast again or something. She typed distractedly in midair, to everyone else around her appearing to stare at nothing in particular. “You had breakfast yet?”

“No,” said Satya, in a way that sounded more like, “Yes, but I can’t think of anything better.”

They picked a spot close to the hotel, got orange juice and waters before the server came to take their order. Place was small, clean, kinda trendy Californian, and the low lighting made it dark against the cloudy sky outside.

“So…” Sombra tapped her fingers against the edge of her glass. “Vishkar. I been doing a lot of research on them lately.”

“As I understand it,” said Satya. She said with an impossibly straight back, hands placed in her lap where they either lay perfectly still like the rest of her or wrung like crazy beneath the table. Looking at her arms, though, she seemed pretty stiff.

She looked her in the eyes. “There something you want to tell me?”

Her expression twitched into the slightest of scowls. “You suggested that I could stay.”

“Babe,” said Sombra, leaning on her elbow, “you can do whatever you want.”

“How?”

She had to think. “Good question.” She looked to the side. “I dunno enough about how you work over there to give you any good ideas. Know you got a lot of robots doin’ your work for you, and that Vishkar treats their employees real good, enough to turn them into total dirtbags. Vishkar’s a publicly traded company, so they’re accountable to their investors, too. Money makes the world go round, and though you be real smart and real good for publicity, I know nothing you do ever makes it off the page, so to speak. Looks like the Tijuana project might fall apart before it even gets started.”

“That is what you were aiming for,” said Satya. “At least, that was your original plan.”

Sombra sat up. “What you think? You think you can bend Vishkar to your will? Vishkar’s security is watertight since they automate so many of their processes, but if you can get me in…” She snapped her fingers. “Be like a kid in a candy store.”

“What would you do?”

She grinned. “Anything you want, you got it. Could give you the whole goddamn world on a platter if you wanted. Got to cover my tracks—I mean, I can’t mess with the numbers that much—but get me access and there ain’t a lot I won’t be able to do. Could get you clearance, could get you access into other stuff in return; depends on what you want, really.”

“Funding, as well?” asked Satya. She was focused now, her gaze intense.

The grin faded into a wry smile. “There all sorts of ways to get money, querida. But someone might be looking at those things, you know? Think Korpal is the real problem here. Can’t do nothin’ if there’s some guy always checking the books. Could frame him, but he’s gonna be real angry about it.”

She looked down, thinking. “I do not want… Korpal to know of our arrangement.”

“And that’s the thing, I dunno how well they’d be able to trace a breach, if you tried one. You don’t want to be caught by them, especially if he’s as vicious as he sounds. And I don’t wanna put you in no danger either.” Sombra sighed. “And money’s just one issue, ain’t it? You got to get approval from the bosses of the bosses, the head honchos. Could fake it, but if someone finds out,” she waved her hand, “there goes your job. Be easier for you to leave if you’re not happy, and I don’t think even Vishkar’s crazy enough to force you to stay—but I get the feeling you don’t want that.”

“I did not expect you to be so discreet.”

“Only shitty hackers are careless,” said Sombra. “I go in, get what I need, and get out.” She pinched her chin. “So?” She looked up at her. “What you want?”

Satya stayed quiet. The server came over and took their order, and Sombra ordered something that probably had too much avocado and Satya ordered the spiciest-sounding thing on the menu. Right. Still a pure-blooded Indian.

Satya looked at her, a question in her eyes. “How are we dividing this?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout this one,” she said, flapping her hand. “I’m paying. My treat.”

She relaxed. One less thing to worry about, she guessed. “I would like the Vishkar site to be developed according to my blueprints, inasmuch as it is possible. However, I believe I will have difficulty convincing Korpal and the others to accept my ideas without severe compromise.”

“They gonna butcher it, in other words.” Could say goodbye to the nice front yards, the little gardens, hell the whole damn house itself. They would put up prefabs, say they couldn’t fit the designs into their annual budget.

“In that case, I would rather leave the project. They would not be able to stop me if I turned in my resignation.” As usual, Satya spoke without looking her in the face.

“Where would you go, then?” Sombra tapped her fingers against the table. “Into the government, maybe? Planning and urban development? You could be a bureaucrat. Probably fit in with those types, honestly.”

“You are suggesting that the Indian government would be as organized as Vishkar.”

She blinked. “I guess it wouldn’t be, huh.”

“More than likely I would be helping to reform it,” said Satya.

“And about money and stuff, you’d be running into the same problems you’re running into here. Even if you did get it eventually, you’d be stuck waiting for ages for all the red tape to clear. I mean, I dunno.” She shrugged. “Wouldn’t be so bad, someone like you working for a big government like them. Almost like Vishkar, ‘cept maybe they might be more willing to listen. Hmm…” Sombra covered her mouth. “What you need is influence. People power.” She thought. Overwatch? Angela might be able to put pressure on them, not without a hefty price though. “Me, I think I can help, but…”

Vishkar was practically indomitable. They didn’t grow to the size they did by being a bunch of pussies. She made a living off of taking down giants like them, but not alone, and this would be harder than just scaring them away from Tijuana. “I’m not in those conference rooms making those decisions.” And decisions about money were never ever made by robots.

Maybe she could just… give them the money? There was no guarantee that Vishkar would use it for the intended purposes, though. They needed to make a big show of it. They needed to make Tijuana want it, the same way Rio didn’t. And it was hard to get people psyched for stuff like that. They probably didn’t want it, in all honesty. This was post-Rio Vishkar, the company everyone knew burned down the favelas so they could put down their shitty white igloos for rich-ass foreign investors.

“You look as though you are struggling,” said Satya.

“I can’t think of anything,” she said, shaking her head. “Though I can pull the strings of someone who can pull other people’s strings. Maybe if she makes enough deals she’ll hit the right person eventually.”

“Who?” she asked.

“Overwatch,” said Sombra, and as she did she saw Satya’s eyes widen.

“The organization whose activities are prohibited by the Petras Act?”

She nodded. “The very one.”

“You have connections to Overwatch?”

“Corazón, I have got connections to everyone.” She slung an arm over the back of her chair. “Angela’s gonna fuckin’ hate me though,” she muttered. “I know she don’t wanna go toe-to-toe with no Vishkar.”

She seemed to consider this.

“Ahh,” said Sombra, stretching, “I don’t wanna do that, though. Mercy is my last resort. She gonna be a total bitch about it too, hold it over my head.”

“How would she go about this assistance?” asked Satya.

“Doin’ what only Dr. Ziegler can do. Um…” She rapped her knuckles against the table. “Calling in favors, basically. Made a lot of friends over the years. One of those people must know someone who knows someone who knows some cabrón in Vishkar, and who’d be able to talk them into accepting your plan exactly as is in exchange for…” She shrugged. “Whatever. But I swear what that woman does, it’s like magic. You and me, though, she’s gonna ask a lot of in return.”

“You are reluctant,” she said.

Sombra avoided her vacant gaze. “We got kind of a personal thing going on. Can make some sweet, sweet music together when we can cooperate, but we when can’t,” she made a rude sound with her mouth, “might crash the stock market for a day.”

“What would she demand in return for such aid?”

She scratched her head, the shaved part of her scalp. “Damn well anything she can think of.” Might be the day she finally asks to talk to Amélie, she thought to herself. That would be a total disaster.

“Would you be able to provide it?” Man, this girl could move any which way—she’d seen the dance videos—and she just didn’t.

“Wouldn’t be Sombra if I couldn’t,” she said, and then saw Satya’s expression and her mouth fell into an, “Oh.”

“What are the alternatives?” she asked, without skipping a beat.

“I tap one of my other contacts and see if any of them can do the same thing. Don’t have many friends in high places that ain’t connected to Talon, though, and you don’t want me goin’ there for help.”

“Surely it would be most prudent for you to contact this Dr. Ziegler,” said Satya, raising her voice. “If you are able to give her what she requires…”

Sombra shook her head. “You seem to be missing the part about ‘emotions’, querida.”

She furrowed her brow. “What did you call me?”

“Uh…” She shook her head harder and flapped her hand to dismiss her question. “I know you like bein’ logical and all, but me and Dr. Z got some history together.”

“How do you mean?” she said.

“We don’t get along.”

“Why not?”

She pressed her lips together, inarticulate. “We just don’t.”

“I do not…”

“Understand, yeah, I know.”

Satya frowned. The expression puckered her features; shit, she’d made her angry. “Please stop interrupting me.”

She sighed and removed her arm from the table. “OK.”

“If you are able to seek her assistance, and there are no other viable options, then you must contact Dr. Ziegler regarding the Vishkar proposal.” She sat even more stiffly than usual. “Else I see no reason to proceed with our engagement.”

“Engagement”? What were they doing, getting married?

Sombra slumped. “I’ll see how it goes. You just focus on gettin’ your work done.” Granted, she wouldn’t mind being married to a babe like her. Far as she knew her, at least.

“Can I trust you, Sombra?” she said, looking her in the eye.

She stared and nodded back. “Believe me, Vaswani. I wouldn’t be doin’ all of this if I didn’t care about what happened to you.” As she stared down at the lacquered wood of the table, a plate materialized in front of her.

Definitely too much avocado.

Satya wasn’t one for small talk. They said barely anything throughout their meal, though Satya looked less annoyed at her by the end of it. Her eyes flickered over Sombra’s form as she slipped in her card for the check.

Sombra glanced up. “Got avocado on my face or somethin’?”

“No,” she said, but her gaze was so intent that Sombra couldn’t help but blush a little. “Sombra is not your real name.”

“It’s… not my birth name,” she said, bowing her head low. “The only name I go by nowadays, though.”

“What is your birth name, then?” asked Satya.

She cracked a grin. “No reason for you to know that, so I ain’t sayin’.”

“What does your identification say?” she said, looking miffed. “Is it counterfeit?”

Sombra wet her lips. “Pretty much every form of ID on me is fake, yeah. I don’t have records. Anywhere. I’m a ghost. Soy una sombra.”

“Who are you?” Satya demanded.

She shrugged. “Just a humble, everyday hacker who might be a little into you.”

That seemed to pacify her.

Sombra’s credit card came back, and she slipped it into her pocket. She drummed her fingers on the table and looked at her. “Keep in touch, Vaswani?”

“You did not tell me that you were romantically interested in me,” she said, after a while.

“Thought it might help you to explain my behavior,” said Sombra. “Since I could tell you were getting all analytical on my ass.”

Her brow scrunched. “That is… very strange. You hardly know me.” Satya was looking away from her, though that was pretty normal for her.

She smiled a bit and leaned against the table. “Guessing you don’t have much experience with el amor, huh?”

Satya looked down at her. “It is illogical.”

“Even you know that’s a poor excuse,” she laughed, and sat back up.

Satya’s eyes followed her as she sat up. “Why?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Dunno. Could be lots of reasons why.” She looked up at her. “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not,” she said, though her voice wavered in a funny way. She put one hand on the table. Her gaze was restless. “That will severely cloud your judgment.”

“Yeah. I know.” Sombra put her hands in her lap, started fiddling with them in her seat.

“I find it questionable whether I should ever trust you, now that I am aware of that.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look Vaswani in the face. Why’d she always have to sound so harsh? She knew it’d been stupid of her to admit it in the first place. Tonta couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

She toyed with her thumbs. “I mean, don’t you got feelings too? You ain’t some robot. Are you?”

Satya was quiet.

Now for the big reveal, she thought. Satya was gonna be some goddamn secret Vishkar project, after all.

“I am not,” she said, but for some reason, she didn’t look so convinced herself. She looked down. “I am merely… perplexed,” which Sombra for her own sake decided to interpret as “curious”, and therefore “not entirely turned off”. “You are investing an incredible amount of effort for the express purpose of attempting to woo me.”

“OK,” she said, “that ain’t the only reason why.”

Satya looked at her, eyes skimming up and down. Dammit, she had no idea how to take that! “I must admit I am uncomfortable with the idea.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t expecting this to happen either,” said Sombra. “Don’t mean to be a creep, I just…” She covered her mouth. Felt like her heart was about to claw its way out of her chest. “Thought it’d be better to be honest with you. Didn’t want to keep no secrets, ‘specially with the way Vishkar’s been treatin’ you.”

Satya made as if she were to stand up and walk away, but she stood there, frozen, both hands on the table. She exhaled, sharply, out of her nostrils, made an aggravated face that Sombra had never seen on her before. She shook her head, hard enough to shake her hair loose around her neck. Her chest heaved up and down, and when she spoke, her eyes were squeezed shut. She looked as though some other Satya were about to tear out of her skin and start bolting down the street like a mad animal. “I’m not OK with this,” she said, and though her voice was calm the rest of her sure as hell wasn’t. “For the meanwhile, please pretend as though you do not have feelings for me.” Her eyes opened. “I do want to work with you, but…” Sombra let her gather her thoughts. “If you are going to behave unpredictably, that makes me… very nervous.” Her voice quavered.

Sombra’s thoughts hovered between “She’s _that_ scared?” and “Who the fuck am I looking at, ‘cause I don’t remember Vaswani ever acting like this in a million years, like, ever.” Where was the composure? The perfection? The… Satya-ness? Girl looked like she were about to have a mental breakdown inside the restaurant. Seriously? All she did was confess.

Well. Satya, who already struggled to predict people’s behavior, probably wasn’t too keen on working with someone who wanted to jump her fucking bones (though Sombra never would, not until they had talked it over at least), but at the same time Sombra was her biggest and best ticket to damn well near everything she had ever wanted. Couldn’t blame the girl for feeling conflicted. Sombra would never hurt her or upset her on purpose, and would never betray her if she had any way out of it, but she was still as shady as hell. On top of everything else, she was in love with her. Was her one-way ticket to Awkwardville, and Satya was the most awkward of them all.

Sombra probably could’ve hidden her feelings for a while, since Satya was by and large oblivious to those kinds of things, but it didn’t feel right for her not to know. She would’ve figured it out eventually, and Sombra would rather she know now, before anything bad happened, instead of after when shit inevitably hit the fan. Least nothing else would come as a surprise.

“OK,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I hear you. Won’t be hitting on you or nothin’; it’ll be purely business from here on out.”

Satya’s shoulders sank down, and her posture softened. “Understood.” Then she stood up, back straight, fully composed, as if nothing had ever happened. “Tell me once you have decided what you will do, and we will reconvene,” she said, and then Sombra followed her out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They exchanged information—Sombra wouldn’t be seeing her again for a while—and then she went back up to her hotel room to check out all of those messages from Mercy. No voice mail, just an annoying barrage of calls over the course of an hour before she finally gave up. Now that she was free, she could technically respond, but after that conversation, well… Things could get pretty sticky if she let on what happened. If Sombra had her way, Dr. Ziegler wouldn’t be getting Satya for Overwatch in the way that she’d wanted. But if Satya had her clout in Vishkar, and knew that she was indebted to Ziegler as a result, that was pretty much the same thing, wasn’t it? Maybe even better, if she played her cards right. She dreaded what the doctor might ask for in return, though.

Least she could finally turn off all those notifications blinking in the corner of her eye. She sighed and sat on her bed. What to do. She couldn’t think of anyone with connections to Vishkar not named Angela, so at this point she was back to square one. And she had nothing to hold against her. All of Mercy’s secrets were already out in the open, and she’d probably wanted it that way, too. Though, she still had Amélie to bargain with.

She made a face. Ugh, Lacroix. Talon’s favorite science experiment, and an utterly broken woman who was pretty much always on the verge of committing suicide or going flat-out fucking crazy. Sombra pitied her as much as she feared her, and though most of the time she just seemed bored or irritated, there were other times when she could start fights out of nothing, go for the jugular, really try to hurt someone. She was all over the place, that one; the worst was when she had these moments of complete and utter clarity, acted nice for no reason other than to remind herself of her own humanity, however splintered and in pieces it was now. Sombra struggled to figure out just what it was that Angela saw in her. Mercy was no saint herself, and never assumed anything about anyone—one of her real charms was the fact that everyone was suspicious to her—but somehow she knew Amélie was hurting, deep down. Doc wanted to save her for personal, selfish reasons.

That feeling was starting to ring real familiar now. Really, Amélie had no one on her side. Tracer, maybe, and Angela. That was it. Gabe might’ve cared for her if he weren’t so fucked up himself, and Sombra didn’t know her well enough to be anything other than scared of her. Talon always said they had the woman under control, that they could tame her like a fucking animal, but the real Widowmaker was very much aware of her own actions. Sombra knew her fingers itched to snipe down each and every Talon executive, everyone who had ever violated her, ever treated her badly, and in a way seeing her do that would be cathartic for even Sombra herself. Amélie would never fit in anywhere, would never really heal from her wounds, but Sombra figured she’d be pleased more than anything to work for Overwatch. Talon was full of absolute bastards, and though Amélie gave zero shits about morality, they’d abused her. Nothing quite like revenge to get the blood going again.

Still, getting involved with that whole debacle was seriously risky for Sombra to do. She maintained a careful distance from Talon so she didn’t end up like Gabe or Widowmaker, caught in a trap from which there was no escape. Toeing that line was just begging to get herself murdered in the middle of the night. Mercy wasn’t heartless enough to ask her to do the impossible, but she could see where things might go wrong. And it was not like Sombra for her jobs to be so damn _personal_ ; she was really laying it on thick here for Satya. She told herself that she’d gotten caught up in the heat of the moment, but how the hell was she going to take that one back? She didn’t want to disappoint Satya; that would break her goddamn heart, and Sombra’s too.

Was it worth it, though? Sombra had other aspirations—hunting down the Thing, for instance—and most of the time, everything she did, she did for herself. Got lonely at times, which was why she’d made friends with Hana in the first place, but that was how she learned to survive. There wasn’t nobody more important than yourself, in the real world. Satya would hate her for the rest of her life if she couldn’t follow through, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world for her or anything.

“Qué carajo,” she croaked. The hell was she even doing with herself these days? Chasin’ after girls, contemplating throwing herself in harm’s way for Angela Ziegler of all people, promising to respect the wishes of some chick from Vishkar just ‘cause she was a hottie—Sombra hated Vishkar! She wanted them to leave! And now Satya had her all wrapped around her little finger, playing Sombra for a fool.

She threw herself onto the mattress and curled herself up against it. Where’d she go wrong? She could just leave, tell Satya it all fell through, that there was no helping her now. She could go home and forget about it and go back to doing real work—Sombra work. All of this other stuff, it wasn’t… like her. To go to such lengths for a single person. To go so far that she’d be willing to help out Angela fucking Ziegler with Amélie fucking Lacroix. What in the sweet fuck could have convinced her that helping out Satya Vaswani was worth risking her life? Sure, Angela could ask for something else, but the whole affair was so stupidly personal that she could really only have asked for one thing in return. Satya’s situation wasn’t even comparable to Lacroix’s, not to mention she was way less dangerous.

She sat up. “Damn it.” Now she had to know. Would Mercy really ask her for help with Lacroix? She’d always brushed the matter aside before. Helping Widowmaker out would be chancy as fuck, and Angela must’ve known that. Sombra was going to ask her for more in return if she did—she wanted not just help for Satya, but real, actual protection against Talon in the case that they ever caught her meddling. She deserved that much, at least.

She dialed the doctor up and received her voice mail (full, like it usually was,) once, then twice.

“Sombra?” she asked, the third time around.

“Fuck,” Sombra swore.

“Are you all right?” She sounded genuinely concerned. Aw, she shouldn’t have.

“Listen, Angela, real close. I got a change of plans.”

“I’m listening,” she said, though there was a question in her voice as always.

Where to begin? The past twenty-four hours had been exhausting. She’d never been so overwhelmed by a woman in her life—and yet Satya’s presence had managed to consume her attention so thoroughly that Sombra doubted that she’d ever be so desperate for a single person again. She’d really believed everything she told Satya at the time, even as her brain was starting to catch up to the rest of her. She explained to Angela that she’d promised to help Satya out, in a big way.

She sounded less than impressed. “That’s quite a departure from your original proposal.”

“What can I say? That one does some strange things to me.”

“And you want me to convince Vishkar to approve Vaswani’s plans without any sort of alteration?”

“Or, you know,” said Sombra, shrugging, “as little as possible. Just not what they’ve been doing this entire time.”

“This is completely out of the ordinary for you,” said Angela, incredulous. “The Sombra I know would never go to such lengths for a single person.”

“I’m in love with her, pendeja,” Sombra snarled. “And though I sure as hell want to, if you won’t entertain me, guess I’ll go back to being a total asshole and we can keep wanting to rip each other’s throats out.”

“That’s remarkably honest of you,” said the doctor. There was still a touch of hostility to her voice. “I suppose you’ll want to know what I’d be asking of you in return.”

“Lay it on me, sister.” Sombra straightened up on the bed, remained still so she could listen. Here was the moment of truth.

“Amélie Lacroix.”

Hijo de la puta. She was right! Angela’s voice was so soft and so sweet, “voice of an angel” actually happened to describe it this time around, as opposed to her usual “voice of an angry German”. Ain’t no way she could’ve been anything but in love with this bitch. Was she finally gonna confess? Would Sombra finally get the whole story out of her, her crazy one-time love affair with Amélie “Widowmaker” Lacroix?

Seriously, between her, Tracer, Amari Junior presumably, Widowmaker and Sombra herself, there were a lot of goddamn queers in her circles. To say nothing of Mr. Gay Cowboy, and she’d always figured at least one of the Shimadas was hot for the D. Even Reyes was doin’ it with the hombres sometimes, though the Lord of the Flies didn’t see much action anymore thanks to his new biology. Reyes never considered himself gay, too old-fashioned for that, but there were always plenty of guys thirsty for his junk. To be fair, he never seemed happy about it, or at all. Like, ever. Back when she knew him as Gabriel Reyes, guy always had a constipated look on his face. Nowadays he looked more like “The Scream”.

As for Dr. Z, it’d obviously taken her a lot of effort to admit she wanted help for Lacroix in return for all of this. Sombra had teased her about it ever since she’d learned about their past relationship.

She struggled to get the next few words out. “Can you help me with her?”

“Depends,” said Sombra. “What you want?”

“It occurs to me that you’ve never granted me access to her medical records.”

She thought for a moment. “Yeah,” she said. “I can do that.” That was something Talon wouldn’t miss too much. “If you and her were together before though, you not gonna like what you see. Just a warning.”

“I understand.” Mercy was quiet on the other line. “I have an idea of where to begin with your friend Vaswani. I’ll give you updates on my progress, if you’ll give me those records.” If the doctor was good about anything, it was fulfilling her promises. Sombra knew she’d be able to trust her with this.

“You’re not gonna ask me to help break her out or anything later, will you?” she asked.

Angela laughed, breathy and genuine. Sounded kinda nice, actually. “I don’t think anything I could offer would be worth that much to you.”

“Good,” said Sombra. But she could hear them gears turning in the doctor’s head already. Here was her chance, her big break, her oportunidad de oro. Just hoped she’d be clever enough about it, or else they were all fucked. “Shouldn’t take too much time to get those back to you.”

“What’s your estimate?”

“Mm…” She shrugged. “Maybe a week.” She needed even less than that, in reality, but she wanted to know that Angela would have something to show her in return.

“All right. I’ll see what I can get for you by then. Anything else?” Of course, la doctora was always busy.

“Why you keep ringing me up so early in the morning?”

“I was going to ask you about Vaswani, but it seems that you’ve already answered my questions.”

Sombra grumbled. “Could at least you not be so annoying about it?”

“Liebling,” she purred, so intimate she was practically growling into her ear, “I’ll do whatever I please.” Angela hung up, and Sombra was left to stare at the wall for one bewildered moment.

Goddammit. She was growing soft.


	5. Chapter 5

It was supposed to be another ordinary day in Gibraltar. Angela was going to meet with some representatives from HSI to discuss the testing Winston was conducting on the Raptora Mark VI, and then later in the day she would try to resume the nanite research she had left to rot while Overwatch was still trying to pull itself together. She expected no surprises, no emergency missives from Jack or Ana or any of the others, and as far as she knew, no one had any major operations planned for at least the next few weeks. Despite having loathed the idea of a resurrected Overwatch in the past, somehow she managed to find herself here anyway, pulling strings, cutting deals, making yet another name for herself as the foremost underground political negotiator this side of the Mediterranean.

Unfortunately, nothing was ever meant to go so smoothly here, it seemed. She had taken a break to look over some personal affairs in one of the lounges over at the base, and was so absorbed in her tablet that she hadn’t thought to check whether anyone might be trying to sneak up on her.

Fareeha plucked the tablet out of her hands. “Good afternoon, Angela.”

She started off the couch. “Fareeha! You startled me.” She tensed, then relaxed. Fareeha was hardly a cause for concern. Then she thought back to what she’d been researching on her tablet.

Maybe she would be.

“I’m assuming you haven’t eaten yet,” she said, holding the tablet some distance away from Angela, and she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself by reaching over (though they both knew that was exactly what Fareeha wanted—she would use any excuse to initiate physical contact; they both would).

Angela rearranged herself on the couch. “I would appreciate it if you would give me my tablet back.”

She frowned. “You’re always doing work,” she chided. Exactly like her mother, this one. “Why don’t you give it a rest?” Her eyes slipped to the tablet screen, damn it.

“Fareeha—”

“Who is…” She held the tablet out in front of her, and her eyes focused on the image. “This is Widowmaker, isn’t it?”

Angela sighed. She held her hand out to beckon Fareeha. “Yes. I’m doing research on her biological modifications. The knowledge may prove useful against Talon.”

Fareeha refused to give it back. She looked at her, and then down at the tablet, and then back at her. Her gaze was probing. “Lacroix, huh,” she said. She handed the tablet over, her grip loose on the glass. “I suppose you would understand that sort of thing, given that you’re a doctor and all.”

“Whatever they did to her, I doubt it was anything pleasant.” Oh, she’d had plenty of ideas of exactly what—surgery upon medication upon plain-as-day torture—though she would have her answers soon. She retracted the tablet so that it folded up and slipped it into her coat pocket, and then she stood—and stumbled right into Fareeha’s arms.

Fareeha clucked her tongue. “Right on time.” She smiled a bit as Angela helped herself upright. “Let me guess what you had for breakfast today…”

“It wasn’t just—”

“Coffee?”

“And a bread roll, with some butter, at the insistence of Lena.” Granted, Lena had only been in the kitchen for about ten seconds—she didn’t know if her lightning-quick metabolism had anything to do with her accelerator, but that girl was in and out of the place all the time, usually with something in her mouth before she left—but that was long enough to notice that Angela hadn’t eaten anything that morning.

“And now it’s one o’ clock,” Fareeha announced, “and that… Well, if Lena was there—”

“It was at ten in the morning.”

She glanced at her. “Late.”

“Long night,” she explained. When weren’t they?

“As long as you’re getting sleep. You can’t function on willpower alone.”

Angela let go of her, and they walked through the hallways of Gibraltar side-by-side, not quite touching, but at too close of a distance to be anything but familiar with each other. Fareeha walked with long, assured strides, something she’d always liked about her; there was a firmness, a commanding presence about her physical form, and it drew Angela toward her. Such a far cry from the skinny teenager Angela had met so many years ago, and she wouldn’t put on all that muscle until after she’d joined the army.

She was easy on the eyes, at least.

“One day,” said Fareeha, “I am going to get you to stop pushing yourself so hard.”

She allowed herself a grin. “We’ll both be old and graying by then.”

“If we even make it to that age,” Fareeha mused. They turned a corner and walked through a door into the kitchen.

The kitchen was looking better than it had in recent years—roomy and fully-stocked with a refrigerator, oven, burners and a large sink, and enough cabinets and counter space for a fair few people to move around without feeling cramped. There was a dining area adjacent to this room, though there was a small table in the kitchen as well. All they were missing was a full-time chef.

Angela sat at the table and watched as Fareeha opened the refrigerator. “I’ll just make you a sandwich so you’ll have something in your stomach. You know, there’s a great place around here that makes—what did they call them,” she murmured to herself, “bocadillos or something…”

The term was Spanish, which made her think of Sombra. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the hacker; nowadays when they spoke, every other word coming out of her mouth was “Vaswani”. She’d had her pinned as lovestruck after their last conversation, which, while not necessarily out of character for her, was enough to give Angela pause regarding the matter of the Vishkar development in Tijuana. Neither Overwatch nor Angela herself had any major stake in the project, so it mattered little to her what happened to it, but Sombra was a valuable ally and trusted source of information. She hardly ever took jobs on behalf of someone else, and the Sombra she knew would have never factored something as petty and incidental as infatuation into it. Maybe she was just a romantic at heart.

“Angela?” Fareeha was already seated across from her, plate in hand. “Are you there?”

She blinked and turned to face her. “Err, well, yes. I’m a bit out of it.”

“Probably because you haven’t eaten,” she said, brow furrowed. “Here. It’s ham and cheese and a little lettuce. Should be easy on an empty stomach.”

Angela looked down at the sandwich, and then up at her. “You know,” she said, picking it up, “you really are like your mother, sometimes.”

“Ugh,” Fareeha groaned. “Not this again.” She frowned as she watched her take a bite. “You are the last person I want to hear that from.”

“It’s true,” she said after swallowing, “in the best possible sense.” She looked away, at the wall. There was a picture of the old Overwatch on it—Jack, Ana, Reinhardt and the rest. When had this been taken? Seven, eight years ago? “I know you still have your…” she paused, “misgivings about her sudden return, but we all have our own crosses to bear, so to speak.”

“Says the atheist,” she sighed. “How’s the sandwich?”

“Impeccable as always.” Fareeha did have a knack for these sorts of things. The bread was crusty and chewy against her teeth, the ham flavorful, the cheese tangy and sharp. The lettuce was a bit wilted, but she would take what she could get. “When you retire from service, you should become a chef.”

“In some ways, that’s actually harder than being a soldier,” she said with a smile. “But I appreciate the compliment.”

Wait.

She looked down, and then pointed wordlessly at the meat. “This is…?”

Fareeha cleared her throat. “I only had a taste.”

She blinked. “I thought you were going to try to—”

She waved her hand at her. “Oh, come on. I’m having sex with a woman. That’s like way worse than having pork every once in a blue moon, and I haven’t burst into flame yet.”

Angela ticked off a list in her head. Was this rebellion due to her mother, her sexuality, her excessively casual approach to everything whilst off-duty, or had she just forgotten that ham was made out of pork when she bought it? Really, this was why she didn’t bother with religion. (Amélie had made an ostentatious display of desecrating her own Roman Catholicism, back in the day. “Why bother with heaven when everything I want is right in front of me?” she had asked. Pithy words, indeed.)

Angela finished her lunch and washed her hands, and was about to excuse herself when she noticed Fareeha staring at her with those dark, dark eyes. Her gaze traced the Eye of Horus tattoo on her right cheek. “You look like you want to say something to me,” she said, wiping her hands on the towel by the sink.

“Err…” She squirmed like a child in her seat, which looked ridiculous given her height. Her gaze was turned away, toward the floor. “Seeing you with that tablet—it just reminded me of something.”

Angela walked back to the table. “What is it?” she asked, not unkindly.

She pressed her lips together, reluctant. “I’m not sure where Lena gets these ideas…”

Angela dry-swallowed. She couldn’t… Well, with all that godforsaken time-traveling the girl was doing, who knew if she ever…

Fareeha continued, “But she seems to think you and Lacroix…” She blinked, as if in disbelief. “Were an item, in the past?” She rubbed the back of her head and looked down. “I mean, I scarcely believe that you could be together now, but you can’t blame me for being curious about your past relationships.”

She sat down, mostly to conceal the fact that her knees had started to go weak. She put her arms on the table. “Fareeha,” she said. She didn’t know where she was going with this. She took a deep breath. “Well,” she said, wringing her hands on the table, “for one, you’d be correct in assuming that Lacroix and I currently are not an item. That would be strange, to say the least. For another…” She stared down at the wood grain of the table. “We were. Years ago, before she reemerged as a Talon agent. She was an incredible woman,” she said, completely frankly.

Fareeha looked at her. “Was she?” A deep scowl creased her face. “It’s odd to hear that coming from you, of all people.”

“I’m talking about Amélie Lacroix,” she insisted, “not the heartless killer wearing her face now.” She didn’t quite mean it like that—despite all the cries of “brainwashing” and “neural reconditioning” and whatever else they’d done to her, people were not so easily removed from themselves. Unless they’d somehow managed to wipe her memories, Amélie remained in some sense Amélie underneath the wreckage. Though, Angela was afraid to know exactly how much of her old self remained.

“I mean…” Fareeha bit her lip. “I’m sure she was a different person, back then. That’s just…” Her legs shifted against the table. “Really awkward to hear.”

“You’re the one who asked,” Angela reminded her.

“I know,” she said, smiling wryly. “I want to know who I’m being compared to.”

Angela worked her jaw open, and wet her lips. “You’re nothing like her,” she said.

Fareeha gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “OK. And?” She cocked her head. “What does that mean?”

She frowned. “Fareeha, I just told you I slept with the woman who nearly killed your mother. How are you not more upset about this?”

“I am,” she said. “I’m just really good at hiding it.”

Angela cracked a grin. “You’re hiding it so you can hear more about my ex-girlfriend?”

“Wasn’t she married?” Fareeha asked, giddy. “You were having an affair?”

She flushed and looked away. “It…” She held a hand against her mouth. “It didn’t start out that way.”

“But it ended that way,” she finished. “You were having an affair with Gérard’s wife.”

“You’re awful,” she complained, face still heated.

Fareeha smirked. “You only have yourself to blame for sleeping with a married woman.”

“It was… We were…” How to put it? “In another universe, we would have been perfect for one another.” A universe, she thought, that Lena may have already visited for her to have brought it up in conversation with Fareeha. She didn’t remember ever telling her about it, and wondered if some other version of Angela had looser lips than hers.

“That’s really hard to imagine,” she said.

“You’ve never slept with her,” said Angela.

“Oh yeah?” She raised her eyebrows. “How good was she?”

“Amazing,” she groaned, leaning back into her chair. “Unbelievable. The best sex I’ve ever had.”

“You sound like you’re being facetious.” Fareeha smiled and leaned over the table, toward her.

“I’m not.” Angela held her gaze. “I’m telling the sincere truth.”

“Better than me?”

“Different. I would say…” She put a finger to her cheek, and her eyes turned upward. “Less strength. More finesse. We have fun, but in a different way than I did with her. And she was by far more creative.”

“Give me some ideas,” she said, one hand creeping over the table, “and I’d be happy to oblige.”

Angela reached over and intertwined their fingers. “Some of them, yes, I will,” she murmured, bringing Fareeha’s hand up to her mouth. “The others require more flexibility than either of us will ever be capable of,” she kissed her knuckles, “and are best left as memories of a happier time.”

Fareeha stared at her with the tenderest of expressions. How had this woman managed to fall in love with her? She could hardly recall.

“Are you still upset about what happened to her?” she said, after a moment.

Angela grinned viciously. “It disgusts me.” She untangled their fingers, her arms tense. “She didn’t deserve what happened to her, and whatever’s going on over there, I know it isn’t her fault.” She exhaled and pressed her face into her hands. “She’s an assassin; she’s a killer; she’s a freak… But she isn’t gone. I’m worried about her. Honestly, you should be offended that I still feel anything for her.”

“I’m not happy about it,” Fareeha offered. “But I can understand how you’re feeling.”

She balled her hands into fists. “That woman is a danger to us all, and yet…” Yet now she was bargaining with Sombra to try to do something to save her, though she hadn’t figured out quite what. “I don’t want her to die.” She pulled her hands away from her face, and couldn’t look Fareeha in the eye. “Selfish, I know.”

She smiled a bit. “As with most everything you do, if I may be frank.”

“Then you shouldn’t be surprised that I care about what happens to her,” she said, agitated.

“You’re not thinking of trying to get back together with her again, are you?” she asked, and Angela couldn’t tell if her question was serious or not.

She rolled her eyes. “God, no. What that woman needs is… I really don’t think it’s me,” she chuckled. “I’d be more than happy to help her as a friend, but not now.” She looked away, past Fareeha, into the distance. “If we ever manage to save her—she’ll need time to recover. She might spend her whole life trying to recover, honestly. I…” Her gaze turned downward. “I don’t think we’re good for each other anymore.”

“That’s not easy for you to admit,” said Fareeha, watching her. Damn her for being so perceptive.

She put her elbows on the table, gripped her hands together. “Can you really blame me?” She spoke into her palms. “What we have now… is so different than what I had with her back then. All passion. All desperation. We needed each other like we did air; it was suffocating.” She pressed her hands flat against the edge of table. “She told me once that it was a mistake for her to have met me, because she’d never fall in love with another person the same way ever again.”

“Before or after—”

“After Gérard.” Angela laughed dryly. “Can you imagine? She blamed me for making her cheat on her husband.”

Fareeha raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t?”

She frowned. “She insisted. She called me constantly. Always telling me how much she missed me. How often Gérard was away, how easy it would be to—I tried to ignore her, but after so long, I just…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “It was stupid. Complete and utter foolishness. We shouldn’t have, and we did, and I paid the ultimate price for it.”

“But what happened to her wasn’t your fault,” said Fareeha.

“So?” Angela smiled a bit. “What does it matter if I still feel guilty?”

“Oh,” she sighed, reaching over the table again, “habibti.”

She smiled weakly, taking Fareeha’s hand in both of her own. “That’s what your mother used to call me.”

Fareeha pressed kisses into her hands. “Well, I’m not my mother, and you’re not responsible for what happened to Lacroix.” She looked up at her. “And I won’t fantasize about you having sex with Lacroix if you won’t compare me to my mother.” She grimaced. “Please. I know I look like her and everything, but it’s just _weird_.”

Angela giggled. “I’ll try.” She clutched Fareeha’s hand, and looked down on it with fondness. “How are your hands always so warm?”

“How are yours always so cold?” she replied, smiling.

“I’m a doctor,” she said. “It’s practically a requisite.”

 

She would have considered the incident with the tablet a mere bump in the road if Sombra hadn’t contacted her later that evening, when Angela was holed up in her office looking over Talon personnel files. She had already reached out to a handful of people regarding the Tijuana project and was about to reach to more, but she wanted to make sure she was speaking to the right ones. Vishkar had had connections to Talon in the past, she knew; it was possible that someone she wanted to speak to had unsavory alliances that she should know about. Talon’s numbers were growing by the day, no less. She wanted to discourage anyone else who might be considering it.

Her phone rang, and Sombra’s name appeared on the screen. She scrambled to pick it up.

“Yes, Sombra,” she said, holding her phone to her ear.

“Check your computer, doc,” replied the voice on the other line. “There’s something you might want to see.”

She held her breath as the notification popped up on her laptop screen—a file delivered to her desktop through one of Sombra’s custom applications.

“Her records,” said Angela.

“De nada,” said Sombra. “Now what you got for me?”

She clutched her phone. Her hand was shaking. “Right,” she gripped her phone tighter, “there are a few names I found worth looking into…” She could wait.

They had waited this long, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

To be fair, sex with Widowmaker was something else. This was her gross, cold, on-the-verge-of-corpselike genetically modified body that Sombra had done, too, not the warm-blooded bombón Mercy had been screwing (and had they been screwing, damn). After Sombra sent her the files, and Angela had had a chance to look at them, the next time she rang her up, Angela maintained her composure for a good five minutes before the whole story came spilling out of her. It’d been awkward to hear from her, sure, but hey, even Sombra the Magnificent herself was capable of sympathy. When the doc was coherent, it sounded intense for sure, one of those 1950s lesbian romances that usually ended with one party or both of them dying a miserable death. When she was incoherent, it was just plain embarrassing.

Surprisingly, it seemed that only a handful of other people knew anything much about it—they’d done a good job of keeping it a secret; Sombra found only the barest of whispers about the tragic love affair between the genius Swiss doctor and Gérard’s babe of a wife, though even then the rumors had been sizzling. Wanton escapades in Lisbon, Paris, Geneva, threesomes, moresomes, prostitutes, wild parties, anything and everything they could think of to keep the passion flowing. Seemed like they knew it was all gonna go belly-up, in a big way, and according to Mercy it just got worse and worse as Talon sank its claws into Overwatch, into Blackwatch, and finally into the Lacroixes. How they managed to keep that as secret as they did might’ve had to do with just how little of herself Amélie divulged online. She and Gérard both had virtually no online presence; Sombra traced her name to bank accounts and tax software and a few other finance-related things, but no social media, no nothing. She linked Amélie’s emails to a cooking website, some French lifestyle blog, a hunting goods wholesaler, and that was it. Girl lived in the real world as much as she could, and it was pretty obvious she wanted to keep Angela and Gérard both from spending too much time in front of a screen.

Which. Back to the sex. Widowmaker, even as blue and cold and creepy as she was, even as much as they fought and quarreled up until they actually did it, that freezing December day in New York City, was fucking amazing. It’d been awkward to hear years later that she had been in love with Ziegler—come on, really? Ziegler? The surgeon with the stick shoved so far up her ass she’d need to perform a colectomy on herself to get it all out? That was one person and under a decade removed from doing Angela, and that woman was such a turn-off it didn’t matter how good Widowmaker was. She judged Amélie for falling in love with that infernal creature.

Seducing her had been… bizarre. Like, Widowmaker was weird. She was really casual about sex, didn’t treat it like it was special or nothing, and Sombra had thrown the idea out there just to be a jackass, but Widowmaker was totally cool with it. Like as soon as you mentioned sex, she’d cast off the stone-cold killer persona for a minute and act like a regular person again—well, as regular as Amélie ever did. Even then Sombra knew what had been done to her, or had an idea at least, and Widowmaker was a total slut, but then when she brought it up Widowmaker got all up in her face about slut-shaming; said most of those encounters were perfectly consensual, that she would use her body as she pleased and fuck Talon; seriously, just fuck them. Sombra hadn’t been interested in her body, exactly, but it was like whenever you mentioned sex, she stopped looking like she was going to stab you, and Sombra preferred the hungry look in her eyes to the murderous one because at least it meant she was gonna survive a few more days in the woman’s presence.

Long story short, Lacroix wasn’t frigid. Like, at all. Zorra was caliente by far, and although Sombra thought it was going to be the most painfully awkward thing ever—she had agreed because, hell, how do you turn down _Widowmaker_ and not get shot for it later—it wasn’t. She did a complete one-eighty from her usual chilly persona, spoke in amiable French-accented English the whole way through (almost, Sombra caught her speaking French a couple times, though she was hardly one to speak herself), and was even sort of polite about it. Was it a French thing? Sombra didn’t know.

She was good. Really good. Experienced, comfortable in her own blue—what Mercy called “cyanotic”—skin, and surprisingly patient. She even offered to stop if Sombra wasn’t that into it, since she said there was no point if neither parties were getting anything out of it. It wasn’t that Widowmaker was sexy—Sombra didn’t find her that alluring after learning about all the gross medical experimentation done on her—just that she was nice.

Widowmaker being nice. Envision that for a moment. Widowmaker not being a heartless murderer, not being bored and angry and impatient, not looking like she wanted to claw her own skin off and drop dead on the floor. Sombra touched her once, maybe a couple times; Widowmaker didn’t like taking it so much as she liked giving it, which was fair enough. It’d been weird, though? She’d never met someone before who treated sex not as this nasty, dirty thing people did when they got too horny, or as this super special sacred thing you did only with one person at a time and preferably only that person for the rest of your life, but as an agreement, of sorts. Like a contract that you signed. Sign this paper, we’ll give it a stamp, everything tied up nice and neat for the morning after. No hurt feelings, no misunderstandings, no nada because you had discussed everything before you actually went and did it. Sombra would’ve never expected it from the psycho sadistic bitch, but this woman was full of surprises. Even put up with being humiliated in bed because she had fucking agreed to it (some BDSM shit this was, but Widowmaker wasn’t not _not_ a sadist, just a conscious one), and fine, she’d been into it, whatever.

Lacroix’d been subdued, too. Probably a result of all the trauma and shit, but she hadn’t been too into it herself. Sombra might’ve been into it a little too much. It’d been embarrassing to look at her afterward for like another three months, until Widowmaker went back to being cold and stony toward her again and Sombra had other things to do, other alliances to forge; it’d just been a one-night stand, with no real feelings involved. She hadn’t forgotten about it, but filed it away as another one of Lacroix’s quirks. She wasn’t a bad person. Not a great person, either, but it was nice to know the bitch had a heart, however still it tended to beat.

Learning that Angela had had a crazy love affair with Lacroix wasn’t the surprise—it was knowing just how much the details of Project Widowmaker had fucked her up. She was not happy about it, at all. Said she would do anything to get her back. Understood all the medical bullshit on her records, and was completely fucking horrified by it. Sombra had seen Angela get angry, but she had never seen her get quite this angry. Said she was over Lacroix (yeah, right), thanks to her thing with Fareeha Amari, but that she’d never be able to forgive herself if she didn’t try to do at least something. And Sombra got that, yeah. If Widowmaker was like that about casual sex, so courteous and attentive she was like an entirely different person, she could hardly imagine what a full-blown love affair with her would have been like.

In terms of tracking her, well, Talon was a bit more slapdash than they liked to admit. If Widowmaker could sneak out for a couple days to bang Sombra, they didn’t keep as close an eye as her as they claimed. Getting Widowmaker to the point where she felt ready to make that choice, though? Not so easy. Tracer had sort of already been trying to do it, but Tracer had her own issues (and Widowmaker hated her, thought she was a total brat). Sombra thought she might be able to go through Gabe, but that wouldn’t be so simple, either. Gabe didn’t want to cover for her, and didn’t care that much unless it got him closer to his dream of finally killing Jack Morrison or whatever it was he aimed to do; guy was so full of old-school machismo Sombra didn’t think even he really knew what he wanted out of life.

As for Satya, who in so many ways was Widowmaker’s opposite, Angela said the easiest thing to do would be to contact some folks in Oasis. Not cool. The Thing’s presence was all over the place over there, Sombra could tell, had the whole city in its clutches. Not that she could tell Angela that; nobody would understand. Only the cabrones in Oasis would be able to talk some sense into the Vishkar execs, though, be able to speak both their language and Satya’s. Ministries wouldn’t ask for much in return, either; Mercy was already in their pockets, pretty much. And they could not let Oasis know that Satya’s whole deal with Vishkar was linked to this gambit to break Lacroix out. Talon had worked with them to create her; likewise, Mercy was indebted to them for her nanite breakthrough. Once Angela figured out how exactly she wanted to go about the whole Widowmaker thing, then they would decide how to approach Oasis. Oasis’s security was tough as nails, too—they were protected by the Thing, after all. Depending on who they asked for, Sombra or Angela, either one of them would have to visit in person to push the deal through. No point in trying to hack her way through there.

Sombra was ready for it, too. Maybe not inside Oasis necessarily, but lurking in and around it was the Thing, and she’d unplugged and rewired herself so no cult-like cyberpunk religions, no global conspiracies, no god of the internet could get into her head. Almost wished she could be like Amélie at this point, off the grid; nobody was like that nowadays. Mercy said she could squeeze Fareeha Amari into an HSI security job over there when they were ready, no less, so at least Sombra would have backup in case things went haywire. She didn’t expect anything bad to happen, but who knew when it came to The Thing? It haunted her nightmares, made her break out into chills, like some technological Elder God, the satanic lovechild of HAL and Cthulhu.

She wanted it to be some lame joke, she really did. Just a bunch of fellow hackers talking tough, some radical branch of Talon maybe, a single smart idiot who had found her and decided to torture her through her computer, make her paranoid, but the deeper she dug, the more she was convinced that the Thing was real. And she was pretty damn good at logic puzzles and recognizing patterns, could put two and two together. Wasn’t prepared to face it down now, but she had reason to believe that this thing lurking in the underbelly of the ‘Net, this shadowy AI, this group of hyper-advanced man-machines, whatever it was or whoever they were, really existed, and were aiming to fuck everyone over. It explained the Omnic Crisis, the God Programs, everything, but she couldn’t trace it to a single source—couldn’t trace it at all. And the Ministries were sitting in the Thing’s lap; it wasn’t like she could ask them for help.

In a way, when you got down to it, Talon was looking for the exact same thing as Overwatch. Both of them were all tangled up in the Thing’s web, just that Talon was going about it a different way, above the law, and Angela sank her teeth into the thick of bureaucracy, figured that would be better instead. Everyone trying to figure out why the robots went out of control, what went wrong, who was to blame—right down to Hana, some teenage livestreamer who just happened to be good at piloting mecha and got caught up in the whole thing.

And Sombra herself? Sombra was cooling down, as the years went on. She was happy to help Satya for now; maybe the robots would stop complaining if Satya could usher in her new world order, bring peace and harmony and whatever, make assloads of money and buy up Vishkar and then she’d be totally fine with Satya becoming their new corporate overlord. Least she’d be better than whoever owned it now. Sombra had her own ambitions, sure, but she could put them aside every once in a while, just to be friendly. She wasn’t expectin’ nothin’ from Satya, except maybe gratitude, although Mercy hadn’t seemed to believe that her intentions were pure. Ideologically maybe, if not romantically, because goddamn if Satya ever showed a hint of interest in her, she would be more than willing to try going out.

She checked in with Satya on occasion, fed her little notes and stuff, swapped info, and though Satya wasn’t necessarily friendly, she wasn’t closed off either. She was interested in what Sombra had to give her, if not Sombra herself, and she was OK with that. It would be fine to stay friends, even. Hana for her part ended up talking to some Japanese diplomats, worked with Genji Shimada to address some amphibious omnic monstrosity living in the Sea of Japan, what Hana liked to call a real-life kaiju (Mechagodzilla, Sombra had joked, but that was way before their time). Whatever it was, it kept her busy—and Sombra went right back to being lonely. Right. The human condition.

Sombra had work to do, too, had to keep the money rolling in, and Los Muertos was getting all up her ass about Tijuana since she’d backpedaled and told them she was manipulating Vishkar from the inside out. They were not happy about that, said she was turning to the dark side, even though Sombra never actually took sides. Had to promise real hard that the power they’d have over Vishkar would be worth it. Satya was running out of time too, waiting for Mercy to get over her personal bullshit. Luckily, Satya was no stranger to Oasis. As a Ziegler-caliber genius, maybe even higher than that in terms of IQ at least, she’d been invited to visit time and time again. Wasn’t so fond of the attention from the Ministries, and clung to Vishkar instead, but she’d been there often enough to seem comfortable talking about it.

When Sombra messaged her about it online, and Satya responded in the affirmative, she used it as an excuse to visit her in Tijuana again. She didn’t want to leave nothing up to chance, and figured she might as well hear everything from Satya while she still could. Satya was open to it too, as long as it would help. Sombra even looked up restaurants so she’d be prepared this time, since Satya said the food at the Californian place was so bland, she could barely taste it. Horrible, what those white Americans were doing to Mexican cuisine. There had to be a few authentic Mexican places around even trendy Tijuana, or maybe she’d just bust down the door to Chapo’s place and cook her something edible herself. Satya provided her a list of dates and a time to meet up—so organized, damn—and let Sombra take her pick.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sombra, who had the most flexible schedule ever, picked the first day that Satya said she was available. That just happened to be the Sunday of February 14th—Valentine’s Day. It must’ve been coincidence; they didn’t celebrate it in India and she doubted Vishkar did anything with it. Though Satya would notice the chocolate shops and their heart-shaped boxes, the bright red signs in Spanish proclaiming “Día del Amor y Amistad” sales, and the general sense that a holiday was coming up during which people were obligated to buy things for their loved ones, she wouldn’t pay it any mind. Sombra didn’t celebrate it herself; say what you will about Latin lovers, but her experiences with that stuff sucked on the whole. Didn’t buy anything for Satya either, for similar reasons. It was kinda weird to see it plastered all over the Mexico City airport, granted, and after touching down in Tijuana and driving over to the same hotel that had so kindly serviced her two weeks ago, she saw the signs of love and friendship in the air there, too. Couldn’t get away from this romance shit.

Unpacking her stuff at the hotel, she thought back to Hana. Those South Koreans were crazy about the holiday. Didn’t they celebrate it in Japan, too? Was she gonna try to give Genji chocolate or something?

Had she, Sombra supposed. Valentine’s Day was already over, on the other side of the world.

As if on cue, a notification popped up on her lens screen. D.Va, messaging her from Cacophony, sent a frowny emoji and wrote: _dr. ziegler gave genji chocolate again this year! apparently its like a thing that they do?_

Sombra walked over and messaged her back at her desk, _so? did you?_

 _no,_ Hana wrote back, _but it’s no fair. how am i supposed to compete? she’s way older than me and like found the cure for cancer_

_conejita she’s not interested in him_

_how do u know?_

_trust me on this one_

_is this about captain amari? It’s ttly about captain amari isn’t it_

_you didn’t know? thought you would’ve figured it out by now. even i knew and i’ve never even seen them together_

_ugh they’re all OVER each other,_ wrote Hana. She added an emoji with a nauseous-looking face. _tell dr. z 2 share_

 _sry not my problem._ If you believed the rumors, Dr. Z had no problem with sharing, either—but Hana didn’t need to know that.

_wat r u doing today anyway_

_goin 2 see my honey_

_what??_ An emoji with a confused looking face followed.

Sombra grinned. _gonna talk to satya today. work related, less fun than it sounds_

 _ohhh,_ Hana wrote back. _I see ;)_

She frowned a bit. Hell, she shouldn’t have been getting so worked up over a semicolon and a parenthesis, but it pissed her off. She sat down. _you think i’m joking?_

_no but ur gonna be real smooth about it aren’t u? couldn’t be coincidence_

_was the first day she was free, believe it or not_

_oh i can believe it._ There was a pause, and then the word, _NOT. so whatcha gonna do, huh? gonna finally put the moves on vaswani?_

 _i can’t asshole._ Sombra clenched her teeth. _said i wouldn’t. after that whole botched confession debacle she asked me to pretend i wasn’t into her_

_boooring_

She cracked a grin. _shut up_

 _i get that she’s autistic and all..._ Sombra glanced at the bottom of the app. It said Hana was still typing. _but you should like, try to figure out whether she’s interested in you or not_

_that’s a major dick move_

_u don’t have to be mean abt it. just drop a hint_

_what did you not understand about her being autistic_

_yeah but she’s not that dense_ , Hana wrote back.

Sombra rolled her eyes. “Come on,” she grumbled aloud. _i don’t want to scare her_

_but isn’t ur whole thing figuring people out? especially weirdo geniuses like vaswani_

She rapped her knuckles against the desk. _first of all_ , _not a weirdo,_ she wrote. _second,_ she had to think, _don’t want to disrespect her_

 _man u rly have it bad for her huh?_ Hana added an emoji giggling behind its hands. _or r u just scared of finding out that she’s not into u? do u kno if she likes anyone else?_

What was this, high school? Everyone gossiping about who likes who?

Hana was nineteen, right. Damn, what a pipsqueak.

 _doubtful,_ wrote Sombra. _not what i’m worried about tho. don’t want to stress her out, cause more problems. situation’s already kinda risky for her. if i mess up now just to be greedy i might not be able to make up for it later_

 _OK,_ Hana conceded, _that actually sounds like a real issue_

_you get me now?_

_loser :P_

Sombra smiled wryly. _you little twerp_

_well gl. tell me how it goes ok? i’m rooting 4 u!_

_uh huh whatever you say_ , she wrote back. _take care preciosa_

_l8r sombra! kill it out there!!_

Sombra logged out and sighed, slumping back into her seat. They were here to talk about Oasis, right. Not all this lovey-dovey bullshit. Talking about Oasis was at least as risky as talking about her feelings for Satya, so Hana’s well-wishes still rang true. She could feel the chill of paranoia creeping up her collar again, in anticipation of the Thing. She needed the internet—made a living off of breaking it and navigating it, sometimes creating new parts of it—but lurking in its darkest corners were the worst types of people and the most malicious kinds of programs, entities that would do anything to ruin Sombra’s life. Most of the time, she was worried less about dying, and more about whether the information she’d collected could be used against her. They were living post-Information Age, after all. AIs be runnin’ their lives. The information now organized itself. And humanity was teetering dangerously on the verge of losing control of everything it had built.

If you believed in the existence of the Thing, at least. Either way, someone out there was gunning for her, and that someone probably had friends in Oasis. She had to be prepared for anything.


	7. Chapter 7

Satya—goddammit, she was never going to get used to seeing her in person—arrived exactly on time, at noon, and Sombra found her this hole-in-the-wall taquería where they could get tacos or huaraches or burritos the size of your head, whatever; she was sure that the first thing Satya would look for was the spicy sauce, anyway. They sat at the fourth of five little tables lined up against the wall, and then there was a bar in the back and a jukebox crooning sappy 1950s music, for the holiday. Satya sat with ankles crossed on the other side of the table, back straight, hands folded in the table, dressed in some patterned dark blue sari thing with gold trim. Well, it wasn’t quite a sari, maybe a modern version of it, since it was cut all funny with ninety-degree angles everywhere, and the tail end was left to trail loosely behind her in jagged edges like a fancy cape. Looked expensive from the fabric (silky, with a vibrant sheen), and Satya wore it like it was made for her.

Well, maybe it had been.

“You wanted to discuss Oasis,” said Satya, after the server came to take their orders.

“Yeah,” Sombra replied, Frank Sinatra’s velvety tones settling into the air between them.

“Dr. Ziegler believes the Ministries may be able to assist me with influencing Vishkar, then.”

Wear that for them and they’d give you whatever you want, thought Sombra, eyes straying from Satya’s face downward to the fabric draped against her chest. She saw Satya watching her do it, and Satya met her gaze with a look meant to annihilate her.

Sombra looked away, jiggling her knee underneath the table. “Could do it yourself, you know—unless Vishkar really keeps that close of an eye on you.”

“They would know,” said Satya, with a certainty that implied that she couldn’t get nothing past them.

“No pretense you could use?”

“They would want me to report the results of the visit back to them,” she said, “and I am not going to attempt to lie to my superiors.” Satya looked at her. “Did you not say that Overwatch would be supporting you, in the event that you would have to visit the Ministries personally?”

“Oasis and I ain’t exactly friends,” said Sombra, rubbing her fingers against her palm. “I’m sure I could find an excuse to show up there, but once I’m in there’s really no telling how they’ll react to my request. Better if Angela could go, but they’ll probably probe her too. She might be better at lying, but…”

“That sounds rather convoluted,” said the queen of all things elegant and orderly.

“Yeah, well, you got any better ideas?” she asked, leaning over the table. “Someone has to go over there and beg for it, whether it’s you, me, Dr. Ziegler… I dunno who else it could be.”

“You do not have to make the plan sound so base,” she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“Well, excuse me,” said Sombra, sitting back down. “We’re not exactly on equal terms with the Ministries, here, and even someone as unflappable as you wouldn’t be able to fake it. We all lonely peones compared to the kings and CEOs and whatever running the place over there. They don’t got no reason to listen to us.”

Satya was quiet. “How exactly did you intend to approach the problem, then? How would you or Dr. Ziegler negotiate with the Ministries in order to elevate my position at Vishkar?”

“What we always do,” she said with a shrug. “Ask ‘em what they want, then promise to give it to them.”

“That is exactly what you did with me.” She took a single refined sip of her ice water. “How long do you estimate their requests will take?”

“I dunno,” Sombra said, slumping. “We don’t know. Kinda do these things, make deals, on the fly. How do you think other businessmen and politicians do it? They talk. We gotta go there and talk, too. Maybe it takes hours. Maybe it takes days. But we do what we gotta do.”

“You seem to imply that this would be a dangerous task for you,” she said, nearly making eye contact. “What would you expect?”

She shook her head and groaned. “I dunno, querida; that’s what I’ve been telling you.”

Her brow furrowed. “What is the meaning of that name you always call me?”

She blinked. “Querida?”

“Yes,” said Satya. “That.”

“Um…” She scratched her cheek. “Term of endearment? Guess it means, like, ‘dear’? I can stop, if you want.”

Her expression didn’t change. Guess it didn’t bother her that much after all. “Your plan does not appear to be very effective at this stage. Surely someone who claims to have as much skill at negotiation as you do would have more information prepared in advance for this? You certainly seemed to know plenty about me.” Her eyes settled on Sombra’s face this time. Damn, this girl was vicious.

Sombra leaned back and tapped her chin. “The Ministries, huh…”

If Oasis was a temple, then the Ministries would be its gods. They functioned as one, a collective, making all kinds of important decisions for the global scientific community behind closed doors. They controlled which way the world was turning, were the answer to the question of the Thing—maybe even its source, its purveyor, the very hand that fed it. Security over there was ridiculous, too; they’d probably profiled Sombra (or someone like Sombra at least) to death and back, and even if they didn’t know so much about her ‘cause she was so hard to trace, the moment she tried anything, she’d be taken away. Place cracked down like Disney World, and Disney World was practically despotic. Angela might have a better shot, but Angela was just as likely to get tangled in a web of deals and conflicting interests with her other partners and allies. They might even ask her to turn against Sombra, and Sombra knew she was on their hit list.

She looked at Satya. Looked at her real hard, enough for Satya to notice and stare back, offended. “You sure Vishkar keeps track of everything you do? Like,” Sombra leaned in a bit, conspiratorially, “everything?”

She pressed her lips into a tight frown. “I would not say absolutely everything. They do not monitor me from morning till evening.” Thank God for that.

She tilted her head. “So… That means you can take vacations? And they won’t know where you’ve been?”

Satya looked at her. Then her brow furrowed a bit. “You are suggesting…” She frowned. “What? That I request time off to go to Oasis?”

“Not a business trip,” said Sombra, holding a hand up. “A trip for pleasure. Nothing official—say you just interested in, I dunno, the science.”

“‘The science,’” she echoed, uncomprehending.

She cracked a grin. “There gotta be something over there you’re interested in! Talk to the Ministry of Physics about electromagnetism or something, I dunno. I’d be talkin’ to the Ministry of Security about hacking.”

She blinked and thought for a moment. “I suppose they do not have to know the precise reason for my visit,” she said, looking down. “And I have been invited to attend lectures at their university on multiple occasions.”

“Right,” said Sombra, gripping the table. “That means you can ask them for things. On ‘vacation’. And Vishkar don’t have to know nothing about your visit. They ask you, you just tell ‘em it was great and leave it at that.”

Satya shook her head. “I do not believe I would be able to do it on my own.”

Sombra wet her lips. “Well…”

She looked at her. “You are planning something,” she said, voice as flat as a first-generation omnic.

“Dr. Ziegler can back you up,” said Sombra. “And there’s nothing stopping me from showing up, though it’ll be insanely risky for me to do anything like… try to hack their doors or cameras or whatever. Place’s got more CCTV than the city of London, and they’ve got it something bad over there. If you just gonna do it yourself and want moral support in case they start pressuring you…”

There it was, the trouble crease in her brow. Her lips twisted in frustration. “I am not confident that I will succeed,” she said simply. “The Ministries will try to manipulate me as Vishkar has, and I will not trade one form of servitude for another.”

If Sombra didn’t really give a shit about being caught, she could fuck around Oasis’s network and see how much of a stink she could raise on Satya’s behalf. That would implicate Satya instantly, though Sombra would be dealing with the brunt of the fallout first. The Ministries had deep ties with Vishkar, and she knew they had power over them, but how to get what they wanted without causing more trouble for everyone in the process? Oasis claimed to be impenetrable—which wasn’t true, everyone was just scared of what’d happen if they did since the place could issue international manhunts like they was nothing—and Sombra could almost definitely hack into them given enough actual time and resources, no code was ever perfect, but it couldn’t be something that they’d seriously care about. She had to be annoying, a distraction, but not a _threat_. There was a clear distinction between the two.

“I’ll back you up,” said Sombra.

“How?” asked Satya, unimpressed by the show of confidence.

“I’ll talk tough.” She grinned a bit. “Maybe DDoS a little part of their network, just to frustrate them. They got libraries and stuff, scientific search engines, things they use to do their homework. Can block those, bring their sites down, the knowledge they be so proud of. Piss ‘em off until they give in.”

Satya looked baffled. “You’re going to intimidate them into complying with my demands?”

“They won’t be able to trace that shit. Plus, Sombra can claim responsibility anyway,” she cackled. “Sombra is huge. I can plan something out with my guys, take down Oasis for an hour or two. It’ll be fun.”

She was horrified. “That is a crime,” she said, with actual emphasis on the ‘crime’ bit.

She jabbed a thumb to her chest. “Yeah? Well, I’m a hacker. My whole deal is breaking and entering.”

“And…” she still seemed uncertain, “you would do all of this for me?”

“Yeah?” She hunched over. “Why not?”

After the initial amazement wore off, she shook her head. “No…” she said, resistant, “how would… How would they know that the attacks on their websites were related to my…”

Sombra smiled. “They’ll know. Don’t you worry ‘bout that. But before that, we need to figure out who you need to talk to about Vishkar.”

Satya looked askance at her. “I believe I will be able to arrange for that.”

“Great.” Sombra pinched her chin. “Hmm… We missin’ anything else…”

“Must you really accompany me there?” she asked. She didn’t look too happy about the idea.

Sombra shrugged. “I mean, if you think you can tough it out yourself, that’s fine. All I really need is a computer and a time, you know, when to start the attack on their servers.”

She thought again, looking away. “You will be the one responsible,” she murmured, more to herself it sounded like. “What if your plan fails? Do you have any control over what will happen to me, in that case?”

“Just blame me,” she said, smiling coyly. “They know who Sombra is. Point fingers all you want. Tell ‘em I was the one who came up with the plan, that you just went along with it ‘cause you thought you were gonna get something out of it. Smear my name, whatever you need to do to pin the blame on me. I don’t mind.”

She blinked, hard. Satya was being much more expressive today, as opposed to her usual aloofness, her desinterés. “I don’t…”

“Get it?” Sombra chuckled a bit, and then noticed the servers approaching with their food. She held up a hand. “Hold that thought.”

Mealtime with Satya, as usual, was quiet. This time, though, Satya kept sneaking these little oblique glances at her, as if trying to figure the woman out through mere application of sight—as if staring at her would solve the puzzle that was Sombra. Food was better than the other place, too; they both cleaned their plates.

“No dessert?” asked Sombra, after their plates had been taken away.

She shook her head. “No.” Then she looked at Sombra again. “Why do you look so delighted at the thought of being blamed for an attack?”

“Not making any excuses for who I am or what I do,” she explained. “I’ll take a hit if it means you get to keep your good name.” She saw the waitress come by again, and raised a hand. “Cheque, por favor.”

Satya watched as the check came over. “You are…”

“Paying,” said Sombra, slipping her card in. “Again.”

“You seem to relish in committing these types of illegal activities,” she observed.

Sombra grinned. “Pretty much, yeah. But it’s worth it, if it means I get to help out people like you.”

She looked as if she didn’t know how to interpret that. “This has nothing to do with your attraction to me?”

She whistled. “It has everything to do with that, actually.” She scribbled in her signature once the check came back, and then pocketed the customer copy of the receipt.

Satya blushed in surprise—sorta, maybe, it was always hard to tell with her. “You are doing this to impress me,” she said.

“Maybe,” said Sombra. She pulled the receipt out again, stared hard at it for a minute, and then scribbled something on the back.

“You do not have to go to such lengths—”

“Ah ah,” she waggled a finger at her, “don’t you start this modesty bullshit with me!”

Satya scowled, but kept her mouth shut.

“You tell me no, then fine,” said Sombra, “we don’t have to do nothing. But don’t tell me you don’t ‘deserve’ it or that I shouldn’t have to do nothing for you because it’s not important, or whatever. I do what I want for your sake, so long as you let me do it.”

She exhaled, and then frowned and looked away, hesitant. “It seems… an unsound idea.”

“Yeah,” said Sombra, looking at her face, “but do you want me to do it? Little risk on your part, unless you deviate from the plan.”

Her brows drew together, pained. “This is far too much effort on my behalf.” She shut her eyes. “I would not have you inconvenience so many people—”

“Oh, come on!” grumbled Sombra, slapping the table. Satya flinched, and she instantly felt bad. “For like, what, a couple hours? It’s just some lousy research that’s gonna take ‘em years to finish, anyway! These assholes, you even said they would manipulate you if they got the chance. Why you gotta feel sorry for them? What did they ever do to deserve your sympathy?”

Her gaze turned downward. “Even if I accuse you of being responsible, I will ultimately be perceived as the source of the disruption.”

“Not true,” said Sombra. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll lie and say I just wanted revenge on Oasis for… Whatever, I’ll think of something. Sure my friends got plenty of ideas. And that I used you to do it, so you had no idea this was my true intention. Petty way to get back at them, and they’ll be annoyed at me, but it’s not like I really hurt anybody. Just a little swagger. And if it does work out…” She smiled at her. “They know you not somebody to mess with.”

Satya exhaled again—had she been holding her breath this whole time? She still couldn’t look Sombra in the face. “You are positive,” she said, finally daring to look at her, “that this will not cause anyone any physical harm whatsoever?”

“Promise,” she said, and she had never been so certain of anything in her life.

That being said, it wouldn’t hurt anyone on Oasis’s side of things. If they freaked out at Satya, though, she would need backup. That was definitely something that only Overwatch could help with. Hopefully Mercy hadn’t done too much work with them… Or maybe she could figure that into the plan, too? She needed as much information as she could get, especially if this turned out to be messier than they had anticipated.

“I am trusting you with this,” said Satya, her gaze steely. She planted a hand on the table. “I want to know exactly what you will do in order to ensure the safety of everyone involved. I would also like you to provide me with as much detail as possible regarding the various components of your server attack. If Dr. Ziegler or other members of Overwatch will be involved with this, I would like to know in what capacity she or they will be. Additionally, I would like to know the calculated risks therein, as well as anything else you may consider necessary for me to know in preparation for our departure to Oasis.”

“Querida, I will give you everything,” she lied, “as soon as I have it. It’s more of an idea than a plan right now.” She fiddled with the receipt between her fingers. “Got to talk to a lot of people before carrying it out. Once I know, I will tell you.”

She didn’t look convinced. Damn, Vaswani was catching onto her! “I am not entirely convinced,” she said, just to drive it home, “but I do believe you are operating with my best interests at heart.” Her eyes flickered to the paper in Sombra’s hand. “What is that?”

Sombra flashed her teeth in a grin. “I know you don’t celebrate it—I don’t either, honestly—but Happy Valentine’s Day.” She passed her the paper, upside down.

Satya glanced at what was written on it, confused. “What is this?”

“You can’t tell?” she asked.

She looked up at Sombra, then down at the paper. “It is a name,” she said. “Presumably, a Spanish one.”

“Not just any name,” said Sombra, tapping the paper with a finger. “My name. You asked for it. Remember?”

“This is your real name, then?” said Satya, with wide eyes.

“The very one.”

“I see,” she murmured. She picked up the paper and put it away. “I will do my best to remember it.”

“Yeah,” said Sombra. “Please do.”

After a few more moments of dawdling, Satya stood up to leave.

“Guess this is goodbye?”

Her face was impassive. “I will be seeing you again,” she said quietly. She slid her chair back into place and waited for her.

Or, at least that’s what Sombra figured; she was starting to get used to the whole “not being looked at” deal. She grinned and got up after her. “Right.” Then she followed her out the door.

Hana was gonna love hearing about this.

 

 

* * *

 

 

But first things first.

Sombra called the doctor in her hotel room a little later, when she was probably gonna be in her office doing research or something. She hesitated before pressing the “Call” button on her interface. It wouldn’t matter that it was Valentine’s Day, right…?

“Whatever,” she murmured, hitting the button. The phone rang for a moment, and she heard a rustling of some sort on the other end.

“Hello?” asked Angela, a little breathless. She had a bad feeling about this.

“Hey, doc,” she said. “Just talked to Vaswan…”

Angela broke into a giggle. “Stop that!”

Sombra could feel her face flush. “Uh… Am I interrupting something?”

The line went dead. She grinned. Least the doc was smart enough to mute herself. Five minutes passed. Sombra glanced at the clock, then watched a few stupid web videos in the meantime. Ten, and she watched a guy eat a whole five-pound gummy bear on camera. Fifteen, and she was a few minutes into a compilation of cat videos from the past half-century. Guess those things never got old.

Twenty minutes later, Angela picked up the phone again. “My apologies. You should have my full attention now.”

“We can always talk later if you’re too busy,” she said, smiling wryly.

“There’s no need to put it off.” She sounded impatient. “You said you talked to Vaswani? That was today?”

“She said she wanted to go over there and ask the Ministries herself,” said Sombra, leaning against her desk.

“To ask for what?”

“For help, I guess.”

“That tells me nothing. What exactly will she ask for?” said Angela.

She shrugged and sat down, putting her feet up on the desk. “Money, I guess. Plan’s gonna be expensive—it’s a suburb, single-family homes.”

“For the poor?” She sounded confused. It almost hurt to hear.

“Yeah,” replied Sombra. “I can see why Vishkar wouldn’t be so keen on developing it. Either they gonna jack up the prices or they’re gonna dump it all and replace it with their usual shit prefabs. I read about Hyderabad, you know; they lacked the resources to actually pay for the upkeep of the houses, so they fell into disrepair and turned right back into slums. Taken apart and sold by scavengers looking to make a quick buck.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s what happens when futuristic Vishkar doesn’t stick around to develop the goddamn area. Vaswani’s layouts are real pretty, but it’d take a God-given miracle to talk Vishkar into letting low-income buyers purchase them. I dunno if she’s just naive or flippin’ ‘em the bird—though I like the idea. Just not sure how plausible it is, even given all the money in the world.”

“I see your head has finally cooled regarding Vaswani,” said Angela, with a certain obnoxious satisfaction. “Have you learned anything else about her blueprints?”

“Gave me plenty.” Sombra pulled up the design docs so they were right in front of her. “Uses the fanciest garbage materials Vishkar has to offer. Means insulation is better, energy efficiency is better, solar cells are at the top of the line…” She skimmed the pages. “She’s got a lot of good ideas packed into those houses, and it’s not like it’d cost that much more than whatever else they’d be using for their prefabs. All that goes back onto the homeowner, anyhow.”

“So it would benefit Vishkar to build these houses…”

“But not to give ‘em away,” she said. “People start defaulting on their loans, Vishkar’d start losing business. Those prefab houses are so cheaply made they practically pay for themselves—kinda like living in a high-tech trailer park, though. They don’t lose money if they just dump ‘em somewhere.”

“And they don’t lose face, either,” Angela added. “I doubt they’d simply get rid of her ideas, if they’re so forward-thinking. They’re too valuable—what if one of their rivals gets a hold of them?”

“They’re good ideas,” Sombra agreed, “but they’re not willing to give Vaswani what she wants. Worried about their shareholders not making a profit, for one, if they’re making decisions that would lose them money…”

“I suppose advocacy doesn’t generate enough buzz to make up for the lack of immediate profit.” She murmured under her breath. “Even as a sort of publicity stunt…”

She grinned. “What? Do a housing lottery or something?”

“That’s actually a good idea.” She sounded pleased. Damn, Sombra was on a roll today. “That’s actually a wonderful idea,” said the doctor, “especially to apologize for what happened in Rio. Vaswani is already their pet architect—”

“And I think Tijuana was meant to be their pet project to begin with.” Mindlessly, she moved around the windows on her interface. “But she’s been pushing harder than they thought she would, so they’ve been pushing back. Kinda revved it up since they handed her the reins of power. Since then looks like they’ve reached a stalemate, or they might even call off the whole project to begin with.”

“Which was your original aim,” she said. “You believe there is still some merit to Vaswani showing up at Oasis in person?”

“If you could prime ‘em…” Sombra mumbled, rubbing her fingers against her palm, “you know, grease some palms maybe…”

“We are still doing this for the sake of the greater good, correct?” asked Angela, wary.

“Satya _is_ the greater good, goddammit.” She slid her feet back onto the floor and sat up, slapping her hands on the desk. “You know Oasis won’t give no shits about what happens to Tijuana. Satya goes over there with this sob story and they’ll just send her back home with some tissues. Or worse, talk her into some deal she won’t be able to back out of. Isn’t that what happened to you?”

There was a sharp silence on the other line. “I have since… managed to untangle myself from that one,” she muttered. “I’ll admit it took several years and many greased palms. They only very recently considered my debt repaid—and Ana Amari had to come back from the dead to assist.”

“And you’re a million times savvier than Vaswani,” said Sombra. “No offense to her.”

“This is for certain, though? Vaswani intends to seek help from Oasis?”

“I…” Sombra bit her lip. “They’re just gonna do whatever they gonna do otherwise. Runnin’ out of time to talk them out of it. And they’re gonna close the deal—or trash it—whether Vaswani’s happy with it or not. She said herself they’re not going to listen to her if she asks them in person.”

“We have to make the deal attractive to the Ministries, then. Without risking any harm to Vaswani. I do not believe a DDoS attack is advisable.”

“Never know when you might need it,” she mumbled, sitting down and crossing her legs. “We know they find Satya’s expertise valuable. I’m sure they’d want her to design one of them Ministry buildings over there.”

“That wouldn’t be enough?”

“I thought the Ministries were all shady as fuck.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” said Angela, a telltale growl edging her tone. “They’d probably ask her for a few of Vishkar’s secrets on top of that.”

“Give it to me straight,” said Sombra. “Is it a good idea for Satya to ask for help from the Ministries or not?”

“At this point, it might be the only way,” she admitted. “We would have to do something very dramatic to make Oasis listen otherwise…”

Right then, Sombra had a thought.

“Talon,” she hissed, lurching over the desk. “I can fuck with their databases, fake intelligence. Could even frame them for the DDoS attacks if I offer to steal them something from Oasis’s servers while doing it.”

“This is supposed to be a plea for benevolence, Sombra,” Angela chided. “We can’t threaten them with terrorism if our intention is to do good.”

“Don’t you pull that shit all the time?”

“I’m not so obvious about it,” she huffed. “And I don’t bargain with terrorists.”

“Uh-huh,” said Sombra. “Then what would you do? Startin’ to run out of ideas, here.”

“Let me think…” she murmured. “If we do frame this as a sort of publicity stunt, then Vishkar would be open to that. Though Oasis, mm, I don’t know.”

“Satya can’t be the one who brings it up to Vishkar, though,” she said. “It’d have to be someone real convincing—make it sound like they came up with the idea themselves, else they won’t take it.”

Angela sighed. Sombra heard her chair squeak in the background. “We’re missing something.”

“And that is…?”

“A bargaining chip. Something to hold over the Ministries’ heads. It exists—no one is infallible. They’re like you; they’ll make deals with everyone. Those medical records you sent me…” Her voice grew husky. “Where were those from?”

“Talon?” asked Sombra. “Wait… No! Oasis!” She smacked her desk. “That experimental shit… That was all… Fuck.” She thought back to the records. “Sponsored by the Ministries of Biology and Genetics.”

“Do you know how many high-profile targets Widowmaker has killed in the past few years?” Her voice kept to that warm, steady susurrus.

“I mean…” It wasn’t the best-kept secret, but it was far from public knowledge. “Everyone knows it’s no holds barred over there.”

“They condoned the creation of an elite sniper who was bodily altered for the specific purpose of committing horrific crimes, and who has been ordered to assassinate people under threat of death and torture. That is incredibly deleterious to Oasis’s reputation.” Angela’s voice gradually picked up volume. “Imagine what happened if the news got out. That link between Talon and Oasis? It would ruin them,” she hissed. “They would never recover.”

It only took a second for Sombra to piece everything together.

Holy shit.

She was never underestimating Angela again.

“Been thinking about Lacroix a lot, have you,” said Sombra.

“We’ll leak the hint from Gibraltar,” said Angela. “Tell Satya to let Oasis know of her potential interest. I’ll invite her to become a member of Overwatch—and make sure that Vishkar will be able to monitor her correspondence with both me and her contact in Oasis. Satya will then tell Vishkar has her reservations about continuing the project and plans to leave for an organization that respects her work. That will likely not convince them to capitulate, so Satya will go to Oasis as promised. If they do not take her seriously at first, then begin the DDoS attacks. That should be enough to draw their attention. Once they are listening, then Satya will tell her contact in Oasis that she has compromising information on them through Overwatch and has two demands: one, to help her broker a deal with Vishkar in terms that she alone will specify, and two, to negotiate the release of Amélie Lacroix from Talon. The information is already in the hands of Overwatch; if they do not surrender, Overwatch is primed to release the information to every major news organization in the world. I am sure that will be nothing short of child’s play for you—and I have a few people in mind, to start.”

Her jaw dropped. “That is… incredibly risky.”

“They have no choice, _Schatz_ ,” Angela said, her voice as low and as primal and as dangerous as it had ever been. “The information is already there, and there were dozens of people involved every step of the way. There is nothing they can do to deny it.”

“What if Talon just kills her?” asked Sombra, still stunned.

“Talon has invested an incredible amount of time and money into Project Widowmaker. You know that. Why would they throw it all away? The only reason she would die is if…” She couldn’t say it.

Sombra filled in the blanks in her head. “OK. I got it.”

“We have to talk about this in person,” said Angela. “We’re still missing a lot.”

“You are covering my ass if Talon ever comes after me for this,” she said.

“You’re the expert in subterfuge, aren’t you?” the doctor sneered. “What was it that you said? ‘Soy una sombra’?”

“Yeah, and you’re a total angel,” Sombra quipped back.

“Aber ich bin ein Engel,” said Angela, in brazen German. “Dein Schutzengel. Who else could you have turned to for help?”

“I don’t understand what you just—”

“Schade, dass ich für dich nicht übersetzen kann,” she said with a smile. “You’ll just have to learn German, then.”

The hell? Did that actually mean anything or was the doctor just messing with her? Sombra clicked her tongue. “As if two languages weren’t enough already… When we meeting, doc?”

“Give me a few days to rearrange my schedule,” she murmured, “and I’ll meet you in Mexico. Apologies in advance for putting so much pressure on your beloved.”

Sombra cleared her throat. “Pardon?”

“I would rather have you be responsible for everything—since I know you understand the risks—than rely on her to demand Amélie’s release. Talon will know that we used her as a pawn.”

“I can do it?” she said. “The threats and shit.”

“No,” replied Angela, “allow me to revise my plan. Perhaps we can sort that all out before she even sets foot there… You’re based in Mexico City, correct?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Then I’ll see you there.”

“Bien,” said Sombra. “Just don’t drop in unannounced like you do with all your stupid phone calls.”

Angela laughed. “Fair enough. I’ll try to let you know when I’m coming.”


	8. Chapter 8

Angela arrived two weeks later to her Mexico City apartment, on the 28th, on a clear winter day. Oddly enough, in the weeks leading up to her visit, it was Hana that Sombra thought of the most. She was busy with work and streams, updating her personal blog and Squeaker feed, and reaching out to all her adoring fans, to the point where they’d barely spoken between now and her last trip to Tijuana. They hadn’t met once in person, and Hana’s life was so packed that it wasn’t as though they could just set up a visit like this. Now that she was working for Overwatch (and protected legally by the South Korean government, who promised to bulwark her in the event that anyone tried to invoke the Petras Act), her life was more unstable than ever. She knew the kid’s parents were still alive—what did they think? Maybe they were just so patriotic they figured she was doing what was best for the country. Maybe the MEKA program had been their last resort. Or maybe some doofus in the South Korean army just thought it’d be cool to pressure a teenager into piloting a fucking weaponized robot. Somehow, that seemed a more plausible idea than the rest.

She and Mercy had a whole laundry list of topics to go over, now that they were finally meeting up, but maybe she could squeeze Hana in somewhere. Angela had managed to tie up almost all of the problems they’d been having under that one rallying cry—that Oasis had been responsible for the creation of Widowmaker—so she spent her time keeping tabs on Lacroix, for one, and on Satya and Vishkar for another. Time went by fast, though, waiting for her. She was browsing on her setup in her nicest high-rise apartment when Angela messaged her, asking to be let in downstairs.

Sombra took the elevator down. The building was in ritzy Polanco, a glossy glass-and-steel giant that stopped only a handful of stories short of the highest skyscrapers, and you could see the bright lights and blinking billboards of the city below, could make out Avenida Masaryk and the roofs of its overpriced boutiques (probably, she’d walked past it before and she knew it was nearby). Mexico City was a hodgepodge of rickety hundred-year-old buildings and glitzy new metal monstrosities, like any international city, and except for places like the funky Soumaya and the Museum of Anthropology, and the general cleanliness of it all, there was nothing around to indicate how expensive the neighborhood was. There was a pool and a gym in the building, and a little courtyard outside with some green space that she never set foot in because she was so paranoid. The area was pretty nice, for someplace she hardly paid attention to.

The lobby was lit with these bright magenta lights from the bottom as you walked in, which had nothing to do with Sombra, but she liked them anyway. A strip of chrome lined the walls, made out of dark wood, and some tall potted plants stood in unassuming corners of the place. The whole exterior was made out of glass to let light in; the indoor lights turned on after dark. It was cool, new, modern—and they didn’t ask too many questions of their residents.

The doctor was wearing a light trench coat, black pants, hair down with that usual annoying fringe in her face, hands in pockets. Sombra hadn’t seen her in at least a couple years, but she hadn’t aged much. Maybe one or two more wrinkles. She carried a briefcase in one hand, her surefire sign that the woman meant business.

“It’s been a long time, Sombra.”

Sombra looked around for a moment. The lobby was empty. “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, motioning toward the elevators. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Sombra was on the 30th floor out of 45. Not too shabby. Angela was silent in the elevator. They’d talked so much in the intervening years that it wasn’t odd to see her in person, but Sombra had forgotten how spacy the doc tended to be; her mind was always somewhere else. And she took super extra special care of her skin. She practically glowed, though not even Mercy could fight back the effects of aging. She kept a tight grip on her briefcase as the elevator went up.

“It’s 3022, over in the corner,” said Sombra, as she walked over to her place. She unlocked the door. “Apologies in advance for the mess.”

She actually had a nice place—the door opened to the living area and kitchen; then there was a master bedroom, a guest bedroom, and a bath. She even had her own washing machine and dryer, which she hadn’t realized existed in Mexico until she bought the place. TV was seventy-two inches, with a few gaming consoles hooked up and a couch and coffee table, kitchen was a typical modern thing with an oven and fridge and everything, hanging lights and an island with bar stools. A bar area with extra counter space faced the TV.

“It looks pretty clean, actually,” Angela remarked, setting down her purse on the kitchen counter. She removed her coat.

“Let me take that.” Sombra took the coat and put it away, in the closet by the front door. “Yeah, well, I live most of my life on the Web. The ‘mess’ is in my room.” She motioned to the briefcase as she walked back. “What you got?”

“This is my laptop,” she said, eying Sombra carefully. She cracked the thing open and pulled hers out on the bar. “It has all of my notes from our previous discussions.”

“Right,” she said. “Widowmaker and all that junk.” She folded her arms and leaned against the post by the bar. “Said you would find some way to avoid making Vaswani demand all of that herself. I’m assuming your two-week crusade wasn’t fruitless?”

Angela sat at the bar and booted up her machine. “First, tell me what you told Vaswani.”

She shrugged. “Nothin’ much. She knows I been workin’ with you, and she got your messages. She said she could pass ‘em along to Vishkar whenever she had to, and she’s been talking to her guy at Oasis. Indian guy, unsurprisingly. Not even going to try to pronounce his full name, but he goes by Arun. Ministry of Physics, friendly with Vishkar, but not so friendly that Satya has anything to fear, so she says. Got nothing to do with the Ministry of Genetics, mind you, and he ain’t high on the ministerial ladder.”

“It’s a start.” She turned from her laptop to face Sombra. Her blouse was an inoffensive mint green color, nothing fancy about it, and she wore a watch on her left wrist. Who wore watches nowadays?

“You gonna threaten that poor sap?” asked Sombra. “I don’t think he’d know what to do about it.”

“I worked with a man named Sa’id Al Rassam on Genji Shimada’s…” She looked away. “Enhancements. He is most definitely involved with the Ministry of Genetics, and was prominent enough at the time to have conceivably been involved with Widowmaker as well. Ana Amari also has contacts in the Ministry of Security and…” she clenched her teeth, “spent quite some time in Oasis during her supposed ‘death’ to upgrade her sniper rifle. Though getting the woman to cooperate—especially concerning something like this—is like pulling teeth, she can be persuaded.”

“Yeah” said Sombra, “but do any of these people have the power to give us what we want?”

“Al Rassam most certainly does. I can’t go threatening around just anyone, granted, and it would be unwise to assume that we can go to one person to sort everything out.” Angela folded her hands in her lap, wringing them together.

“This is way too complicated,” she grumbled, standing up. “Physics and Genetics are two different fields. Why don’t we just go to one of the founders, Hassoun or somethin’? Easier than asking Arun or Al Rassam or someone else to go through all this bureaucracy shit. We don’t got that kinda time.” She clenched her hand into a fist. “We got the compromising information. Why don’t we just raise a stink?”

Angela glared at her. “And compromise Vaswani’s reputation? The request is personal; you realize that. Both of ours are. On top of which, Vishkar already is or will soon be aware of Vaswani’s links to Overwatch. I’m trying to avoid putting her through what would undoubtedly be a difficult conversation at work.”

“I mean,” said Sombra, eyes glancing over at Angela’s computer, which had a picture of what must have been the Swiss Alps in the background, “yeah, it’d be crazy of her to demand Widowmaker’s release. Talon would murder me, literally, if I was the one who went and did it.” She looked at Angela. “If you can set it up in advance… No.” She shook her head. “We can’t give our trump card away like that. And Widowmaker’s in such a risky position already; if we tell her and she lets on that she knows about this whole plot, Talon could put her on lockdown. House arrest.” Sombra pinched her chin. “We need the right person, in the right place, at the right time. Fine if Satya threatens to leave Vishkar; they’ll definitely react. Fine, too, if Satya offers her services to Oasis without any ulterior motive. She could probably avoid some of the nastier stuff. Her leaving might not enough to scare Vishkar into giving her what she wants, but between Overwatch and Oasis…”

“No one else knows that I possess Widowmaker’s medical records from Oasis,” said Angela, looking at her. “This laptop isn’t connected to the internet. The wireless receiver doesn’t even work anymore; there’s no way to get in.”

Sombra laughed. “Inconvenient, but you’ll never get hacked.”

“If you give them to Vaswani,” she continued, “without invoking Overwatch’s name, then that gives her leverage to work with Oasis. They won’t know why—and that will confuse them. She might not do it on purpose, but her poker face will come in handy when discussing her terms with the Ministries. Wouldn’t it be a good idea if Vishkar was also privy to the conversation?”

She furrowed her brow. “Explain.”

“The information is extremely valuable—we will give Vaswani a part of it, but not all of it. Vishkar will see that Vaswani is turning to an organization that has power over her; they will see her trying to bargain with the Ministries and succeed because she can show them proof of the records. She will hold onto the source of that information until either Vishkar or the Ministries give in to her demands, and at that point it doesn’t matter which. The Ministries’ interest will be piqued, and Vishkar will realize they’re about to lose her. If they agree on a deal, and the Ministries demand more information, then that is when she will mention me.”

“And that’s when you’ll tell them to either help you fight against Talon, or the word goes out.” Sombra smiled a bit. “And Vishkar will understand that she has friends in high places.”

“And you can establish a link between Vaswani and the appropriate persons at Vishkar when the meeting commences,” said Angela. “At that point, you shouldn’t have to worry about drawing a connection between you and her.”

“Right,” she said. “Because in the end, it all goes back to Overwatch, and Sombra’s just a contractor.” Sombra blinked. “We got our plan, then? Just need to school Satya on the details. And I’m sure she’d be happy to oblige, knowing that Vishkar will be watching, and they won’t like what they see. They’ll be scrambling to tear her away from the Ministries. She could even deny whatever Oasis has to offer her in exchange for the information and walk away clean. They won’t know what in the sweet fuck to do—because they won’t know how she got her hands on it.”

“Not the way I would have worded it, but you’re correct.” Angela was typing some stuff out into a document on her computer. “It’s as watertight of a plan I could think of.”

“Damn.” She grinned. “You could go all the way to the top with that one. That’s enough to get the whole damn city council’s attention. Doesn’t even matter how true it is, because once the media hears about it, it’ll set off a million more questions. Oasis’s reputation will be in ruins.”

“And Vaswani can go straight back to Vishkar before Oasis can even lay a finger on her.” The doctor allowed herself a sly smile. “There’s a good chance the Ministries won’t take this lying down, granted.” She sighed and leaned against the counter. “Worse comes to worst, they’ll take her away once she reveals that she has information on Widowmaker.”

“Then she’ll be forced to mention you before she ever gets to see anyone who could solve her problems.”

“In the best case scenario, they’ll take her demands seriously before she ever sees the inside of a jail cell.” Angela glanced at her laptop. “I don’t want to do this, but I may have her accompanied by someone from Overwatch, just in case. Fareeha would be most sensible; she need only mention she works for HSI and was privately hired. That way we’ll know from her if anything has happened to Vaswani—and any would-be meddlers will be deterred by the presence of a bodyguard.” She looked at Sombra. “What will you be doing?”

She shrugged. “Scouting the place. Trying not to look too shifty. Unless I’m invited there for some reason, Oasis isn’t really my kinda town. Though if things go all pear-shaped, I might have to work a little magic to get us outta there. ‘Course at that point it won’t matter whether they profile me or whatever. We’ll all already be in trouble by then.”

Sombra looked at the doctor. There was a deep furrow in her brow, and she was staring into space again.

Sombra cocked her head. “What’s up, doc? Got a problem?”

Angela glanced back at her. “Just thinking ahead.” She was hunched over her bar stool, bony-knuckled hands against her knees. Angela was bony, period, in a way that reminded Sombra of a bird—pale and slender and delicate, with a wingspan that could break your arms if she beat them hard enough. Güera was combat-trained, and a crack shot with a pistol. According to rumor, she’d learned her technique from the great Amélie Lacroix herself.

The doc must have noticed her staring, but she didn’t say anything, just slid off the bar stool and looked around the kitchen. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“Of course I do,” she grinned, walking to the refrigerator. “Soft or hard? Tequila or tamarindo?” She saw Angela’s eyes glint at the mention of liquor. Or was that the tamarind?

She looked away and shook her head. “No. Water is fine for now.”

Sombra pulled out a glass from the cabinets and poured her some water. “If you say so.”

Angela chuckled a bit as she took it from her. “It’d be a poor idea for me to accept any type of alcohol from you.”

“What,” she said with a smirk, “you don’t trust me?”

She set the glass on the kitchen island. “Only as much as I need to.” She thought for a moment. “Is there anything else we had to talk about?”

Widowmaker, she guessed. But there was someone else on her mind. “Hana,” she said.

Angela raised an eyebrow. “That girl again? What are you to her?”

“Friend.” Sombra walked out of the kitchen into the living room. “Can you tell me what her deal is? So she’s like, a celebrity and pro gamer and shit—but also a fucking mech pilot. One of those things is not like the other, and suddenly South Korea sends her to Overwatch.” She rubbed the back of her neck, sheepish. “If you don’t want to tell me, I understand. But I worry for the kid, yeah?” She looked at Angela. “Now I understand she’s fighting some, like, splinter version of the Colossal Omnic in the Sea of Japan. Overwatch broker some deal between Korea and Japan?”

She smiled a bit. “If I say that was all there was to it, you won’t believe me.”

She sat on the back of the couch. “Far as I understand it, Hana’s just some, like, hot gamer chick with twitchy reflexes. She likes attention, she likes boys, she likes legions of adoring fans…” she murmured, counting off on her fingers, “and she likes illegitimate access onto industry servers, which is totally cool by me.” Sombra grinned. “I know the D.Va thing is an act she puts on for her fans, to some extent.” She thought back to some interesting photoshoots she’d found online. “But here’s one celebrity who puts so much of herself online that it don’t matter how much I look up on her, I’m never gonna get the full picture.”

“Well,” said Angela, walking around to the living room, “what are you worried about?” She leaned against the post.

“Said you’ve been bossing her around.” She frowned.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s what I do to everyone, Sombra. The only reason I don’t do it to you more often is because—”

“Of Widowmaker.”

“And also because you’re not on base,” she added. “We monitor everyone very strictly. Hana also doesn’t trust you as much as you might think.”

Sombra laughed. “Oh, I knew that.” She flapped a hand at her. “I’m just worried about what you’re doing to her. If that’s really all there is, I won’t press the issue. Only do that with people I don’t like.”

Angela looked at her very carefully. “We’re doing everything we can to keep her safe.”

She blinked, and then leaned in a little. “You swear?”

“She’s working with an entire pan-Asian anti-omnic defense force. Every nation in the Pacific is trying to help destroy that thing. She’s hardly unprotected.”

“Yeah, but…” She shrugged, feeling pathetic. “Kid’s got issues. You don’t act like a brat after experiencing a war zone without being at least a little messed up.”

“And I’m not a psychiatrist.” Harsh. Angela noticed her expression and looked away, surly. “I understand your concern. It might seem irresponsible to draft young men and women into fighting gigantic monstrosities, but the reality of it is that Hana could have refused, and yet she did not.”

“She had no fucking idea what she was getting into. Brushes it off now whenever I ask,” said Sombra. “I get that she’s gotten used to it, but…” She shook her head. “Least give her a vacation or something. You can’t use your godly authority to give her some time off?”

“That is not my decision to make.” She folded her arms and seemed to consider the idea for a minute. “But I can let you know when Hana is sent back to the Watchpoint. Her MEKA is currently outfitted with some experimental weaponry, courtesy of Torbjörn, and Winston has made various improvements to the hull and thrusters. If all goes well, she’ll be back to report her results to them. With her schedule, who knows if she’ll be called away to do anything else, but once the live combat testing has been completed, she’ll be in Gibraltar for a little while, and after that back in Busan.”

Sombra slipped her hands into her pants pockets. “Was thinking of maybe trying to pay her a visit. Never seen her in person before.”

Angela couldn’t hide her smirk. “I’m sure she’d be happy to meet one of her longtime fans.”

She looked away from the doctor’s blistering gaze, awkward. “Uh-huh.”

“Your apartment is decorated quite tastefully,” Angela observed, poking around her place like she owned it. “I assume your room is a mess of wires and cables, so I won’t even bother looking.”

“All my old junk is lying around at my other place,” said Sombra. “But basically, yeah. New stuff’s all in there. Heat from the servers keeps me warm at night.” She smiled at the same time Angela rolled her eyes.

Her gaze dropped to the implants wrapped around Sombra’s head. “And you had the implants removed some time ago, hm? I knew they weren’t going to last long.”

She didn’t mention the Thing. God, she didn’t want to know if Angela knew about it. “Yeah, well, didn’t want nobody hacking into my brain.”

“No lasting damage to the nervous system, no complications, nothing like that?” Oh God, and now she was even going into physician mode.

“And since when were you my doctor?”

“I’m everyone’s doctor,” she responded. “I was only curious.”

“Felt kinda empty for a while, but I got used to it,” she murmured, pushing herself off the couch. “Not being able to control computers with my mind.”

“You were getting information fed directly into your brain,” she said. “A constant flow of signals from your frontal lobe—” oh, shut up, already, “—converted into signals accepted by internet routers and back, which allowed you to…”

“Access the internet from my head, yeah, I get it,” she grumbled. “Could hack like nobody’s business when I could practically think in machine code. Download all that information directly into my short-term memory, communicate with other machines, acquire instantaneous knowledge just by thinking about what I want and where to get it. The old Sombra would just _know_ things. That,” she said, “that was one step away from real digital transcendence. People sayin’ nowadays you can upload your brain into the internet with that kind of technology, and at this point it might be possible that someone already has.”

“Like a sixth sense,” said Angela, eyes gleaming. Her attention was focused now, in a way that mirrored Satya’s. Great minds, she supposed.

“No other way to describe it,” said Sombra. “You like a god. Half-man, half-calculator. Instant communication with computers means instant response, means you can run damn well any kind of complicated calculation you want and not have to touch a keyboard, ever. You don’t have to be a genius, ‘cause you plugged into things that do those calculations for you. I’m still plenty genius, but without that instant response, I’m just an ordinary hacker with a little talent. That thing that Gabe used to break into Overwatch by the way?” She grinned. “That was me. And it’d be a real simple thing to make another one, if I were still augmented.”

The doctor smirked. “Good thing it doesn’t work anymore.” She looked down for a telltale moment, then looked back up. “Mind telling me why you stopped?”

“Ran into some bad hombres,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. Her fingers ran over her implants. “Real bad guys. Worst of the worst. Promised to hunt me down and wipe me out, so I had those things removed, case I got hacked. No telling what malware might do, sending those signals into my half-computer head—not even that I might get hacked. Might just be that my brain gets overloaded, and if I can’t turn it off…” She shuddered.

“There’s no way to predict how your brain might interpret the faulty signals,” said Angela. “The method by which those wireless signals were being converted—I can’t imagine it was entirely safe or mathematically sound.”

“’Cause I was always plugged in…” Sombra shook her head. “No. Not getting into this. Gives me fucking nightmares.”

Angela had on a gentle expression; Sombra could even make out the lines around her eyes she tried so hard to hide, and she couldn’t stand it. Her whole body twisted away from her, toward the wall.

“You’ve changed,” she said, taking a few tentative steps toward her. “You used to be such a… really, nothing short of a megalomaniac.” Sombra could hear her laugh. “I think I can see why now—but before you got those implants removed, out of Talon, I thought you were the most dangerous one of them all.”

Sombra turned to face her. “Because I got you wrapped around my little finger, doc,” she said, baring her teeth. “Used to have everything right up here.” She tapped her temple. “Not anymore.”

“Funny how things change, isn’t it?” The doctor’s brows drew together, and her smile turned hard. She’d nearly forgotten that Angela was taller than her—not by much, but it was enough to put a little distance between them.

True, they’d gone from mortal enemies to weird sorta-frenemies-with-sexual-tension. After the recall, when Overwatch came back online, Talon had wanted Sombra to find out everything about them. Athena was quick to patch herself up, but most of what Sombra had wanted could be found in other places anyway, public records and stuff, just a basic overview of where most surviving Overwatch agents could be found now. Mercy hadn’t been as big of a deal in the past; she’d been brandishing her own fame and connections, but not to the extent that she did now, and that was how Sombra ran into her in the first place. Doctor was incredibly savvy, though, and no matter how much Sombra learned about her, she’d never been able to get the better of her. Post-recall, when Sombra learned that Mercy had come back to rebuild Overwatch, she’d flipped her shit. Dr. Angela Ziegler was one of the most respected names on the planet. She could get totalitarian dictatorships to bend to her will.

So, Sombra just had to get all buddy-buddy with her in Overwatch. This was a few years after she’d unplugged, too; she was more relaxed with everyone as a result, even her mortal enemies, now that she didn’t know everything about ‘em. Feeding the doctor little bits and bobs about Widowmaker got her to open up right away, almost embarrassingly fast. From then on, it’d been a game of cat-and-mouse, and shared ambitions. Angela used her the same way she used Angela; it was a mutually beneficial relationship, and neither of them had much to gain by attacking the other. After a while, they’d grown on each other, and now, because of Satya Vaswani, Angela was about to get what she’d wanted from her all along.

“Yeah,” said Sombra. “You gonna dump me once Lacroix’s safe in your hands?”

Angela laughed out loud. “Is that what you’re worried about? That you’re going to lose your only advantage over me after this?”

“Where we gonna go from here?” she asked. “I mean, for real?” Her eyes scanned the doctor’s face.

“You’ll have Vaswani,” she said, staring back. “And God only knows we could find some uses for her. Vishkar will have learned their lesson after this.”

Sombra grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. They’ll get what’s coming to them. I’ll make sure Satya remodels the fucking place.”

“Mm,” said Angela, with a clouded look in her eyes that was looking more hostile by the second.

“Doc,” she said.

Mercy was seducing her, wasn’t she?

She was totally being fucking seduced. She found herself wishing for Lacroix to come out of nowhere to lecture Dr. Ziegler about consent, because as much as she wanted to say “no” and would probably try, doc had her damn well figured out enough to realize she was weak to these things. They had _never_ done it. Sombra didn’t want to do it with her. She would take Widowmaker’s nasty ice-cold body over her. Angela was a master manipulator, and even when it came to personal relationships, she was ruthless. If she managed to seduce her here and now, Sombra would start looking up ways to get back at her through her dorky Egyptian girlfriend.

Angela drew back. “You don’t trust me,” she said, disappointed.

Sombra exhaled, and only then she realized how hard her heart had been beating. “Amiga, I do not trust anybody.” She rubbed her arms as if Angela had touched her, though they hadn’t made any physical contact. “Least of all a psycho like you.”

She sat on the couch and propped her feet up on the seat cushions. “Just admit that you wanted it.”

She walked over around the back of the couch and looked down at her. “Don’t you have a girlfriend already? Don’t you get tired of, like, cheating on people and stuff? Could’ve at least asked Lacroix to divorce him if you were that in love with each other.”

“She loved him,” Angela said airily. “What else was I supposed to do?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “She was in love with two people at the same time?”

“It happens.” She rested her jaw in one hand. “And Fareeha… Well, Fareeha says that we’ll work on it.”

“Stupid,” Sombra laughed, and she saw Angela’s lips twitch upward at that. “Amari always struck me as kind of a dipshit.”

“She’s a good person,” she said. “Far better than I am.”

Sombra sat on one arm of the couch, by Angela’s legs—a risky move, to be sure. “You think there’s a future for assholes like us?” She looked out at the TV, out toward nothing. “Never would’ve guessed you were… the way you are, honestly, if I hadn’t started talking to you all those years ago. Thought you were up your own ass about being perfect and infallible, but that’s not true. You know your limits. That’s why you can take so many risks. ‘Cause you know the difference between Mercy the ideal and Mercy the doctor. ‘Cause you don’t take it personally when you fail.”

“It took me a long time to accept that,” said Angela. “It didn’t happen overnight.”

“And that’s why you act like such a jackass around the people you actually like,” Sombra snorted. “Think the more polite you are toward somebody, the more you can’t stand ‘em.”

“More or less.” Her hair splayed against the dark fabric of the sofa. “Genji’s the only exception.” She rolled onto her side and curled up into the cushions. “He’s a real sweetheart.”

Sombra grinned. “Better warn him about you, then.”

“He knows,” she said. “But I like what we have now. It keeps me sane, and it keeps me steady.” She looked up at the ceiling. “We both know neither of us are the lovely creatures we pretend we are.”

Sombra leaned over, resting her arms against the back of the sofa. “Ain’t that true for all of us?”

“Some pretend a little more than others,” she quipped. “You, on the other hand, could stand to be a little less honest about who you are. You wear your heart on your sleeve. It might end up hurting you someday.”

She chuckled. “I am not hearing this from you right now.”

“You care about Amélie too, don’t you?”

“And Gabe,” she added. “Amélie really needs to get the fuck outta there; Gabe will take a lot more… convincing. Seriously, though, Widowmaker should’ve never been a thing.”

“I know.” Her voice grew rough.

Minutes passed between them in silence. She could see Angela’s eyes begin to droop. How long had she been awake?

“I got a bed,” said Sombra, “if you want to sleep.”

“Yours?”

OK, she was definitely tired if she was flirting at this point.

“Go take a nap, doc,” she said. “You’re exhausted.”

She raised one arm up into the air. “Help me up.”

She snickered. “No way. Help yourself up.”

“Guess I’ll just fall asleep on your couch, then.”

“Be my guest.”

“I am your guest.”

Sombra stood up and loomed over her. “C’mon, Angela. Humor me, here.” She motioned upwards with her arm. “Get up.”

“Meine Güte,” she said, wiping a hand against her brow, “I seem to have lost all the strength in my legs.”

She grinned. “You have got to be kidding me right now. No sleeping on my couch when there’s a free bed.”

“You’re surprisingly insistent about this,” she said, looking up at her. Sombra’s eyes did one quick sweep across her body—her shirt bunched up in folds against her ribs, her chest, till it rode up against her stomach and fuck, she was just exhausted enough to do something stupid and not think about the consequences later.

“Might be a bad person, but I’m not a bad host.”

“It’s comfortable here.”

Sombra tore her gaze away. What a douchebag.

“Fine,” she shook her head, “have it your way. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” She walked away from the couch, and was headed toward her room when she heard Angela shift on the couch.

She peered at her from over the back cushions. “I didn’t take you to be the chivalrous type,” she said, her eyes wide open. “I must have given you at least a dozen opportunities to take advantage of me in the past ten minutes alone.”

Sombra bared her teeth in an angry grin. “There’s just no winning with you, is there? Zorra,” she muttered under her breath. “Can see why you got along so well with Lacroix.”

“The old you wouldn’t have lasted a minute.”

She stopped at the doorway to her room, and clenched the door frame. “You know, what gives?” she snarled. “I get that I’m an asshole and I probably deserve it, but this is going out of the way even for you.”

Angela held her gaze for what must have been a full thirty seconds, then got up off the couch and toward the little hallway Sombra was standing in. “I think I’ll be taking that bed, after all.”

Sombra took a step back and gestured toward the door. “All yours. Bed’s made and everything. Extra blankets and stuff should be in the closet.”

She looked down at her outstretched hand, then up at her face, and burst into laughter. “You’ll make a good housewife someday.” She kissed her on the cheek, then walked in and closed the door before Sombra could say another word.

Sombra touched her face. “Caramba.”

Forget about soft. The master hacker was turning into absolute mush.

She walked into her room and slammed the door shut, grimacing at the thought of spending another dozen hours on her computer when there was a rubia in the room next door who wanted to fuck her. She was like a nerd who was so out of touch with her urges that she’d rather date virtual girls online than try to form relationships with the people right in front of her. But Angela had seemed tired, drunk on exhaustion. She’d been smart to refuse the tequila. If they drank, then they would’ve ended up not only in bed together, but with some third woman Sombra had called up over the phone, and maybe like an iguana or something, God knew what else.

Wait a minute, thought Sombra.

That would’ve been fucking _awesome_.


	9. Chapter 9

On the 14th day of February in the year 2077, Satya had scheduled a meeting with the hacker Sombra to discuss a potential excursion to the city of Oasis in Iraq to seek assistance with constructing a development she had planned per the Vishkar Corporation in Tijuana, Mexico. After the discussion, Sombra had provided her with her birth name under the guise of a “Valentine’s Day gift”. The action was appropriately intimate in the sense that Valentine’s Day gifts tended to be, as Sombra’s birth name was something she did not disclose to many people. Though, from her understanding, such gifts tended to be material in nature—cards, flowers, or chocolates, for example. She also did not understand why Sombra had chosen to reveal her real name on that particular day, and wondered whether it might hold some other special meaning to her that she was not yet prepared to explain to her.

Ordinarily, Satya would not have taken such risks to meet a presumable stranger whom she had met over the internet. Vishkar could have either one of them punished for attempting to unduly influence the company’s financial decisions. However, Satya realized that she would not receive any assistance from within the company, and had struggled to determine the best course of action when she had so little practical knowledge of business matters outside of Vishkar. Indeed, she had had her wider sphere of experience limited by Vishkar’s excessive restrictions on her freedom of movement and travel, and the company had established a firewall to prevent employees from browsing on websites unapproved by its information technology department. It was only through continued interactions with individuals from outside the company that Satya realized her experience was considered extraordinary as a result of her sponsorship by Vishkar for much of her adolescence as well as her entire adult life. She was also aware of the fact that she possessed a developmental disorder on the autism spectrum that contributed to her unusual behavior—her fixation with neatness and orderliness, for example, and her extreme competence in the fields of mathematics and architecture. As well, she had been told that many other people possessed a more profound understanding of common social signals and behaviors than she, and that her comprehension was lacking compared to the average person in this regard. She had no way to verify this as she could not imagine herself being able to intuitively grasp those intentions otherwise, but there was a wealth of scientific and medical literature to support this claim, and so she accepted the information as truth.

Consequently, she believed herself to be ill-prepared to contest the terms which had been presented to her as a means of constructing the Vishkar development in Tijuana that she designed. She did not believe that Vishkar intended to develop the site as was instructed in the blueprints, and her superiors provided little information as to their actual course of action. She found their responses to be vague, evasive, and occasionally misleading. Logically, she understood that she had no effective reason to believe that Sombra would be able to help her or that Sombra would not somehow betray her expectations, as she did not know enough about Sombra and her intentions to be able to effectively assess the situation. However, she believed that she would not receive a similar opportunity before Vishkar had made their final budget decision regarding the development, so she accepted Sombra’s offer of help. Owing to her limited alternatives, it had seemed the best course of action at the time.

Sombra had also requested to visit the Vishkar site in person. Satya had showed her the blueprints, which appeared to impress her. Then, Sombra insisted on helping her convince Vishkar to construct the site according to her blueprints, and revealed without prompting that she had somehow developed romantic feelings for her. That, Satya did not understand, as Sombra had only met her the day before. The hacker had conducted many hours of research regarding her career and personal identity in the weeks beforehand, but Satya did not believe that the awareness of what had been documented about her online would be enough to prompt such a powerful emotional response. She did not appear to be lying, either, and at her age and with her prior experience Satya believed that she possessed sufficient knowledge to conclude whether Sombra would have been lying to her in that particular case. Sombra seemed to suggest that her feelings were indeed illogical, but she insisted that she nevertheless felt strongly toward her. Satya could not determine whether her behavior was to any degree artificial, and it frustrated her. Additionally, according to Sombra, Dr. Angela Ziegler from the rogue paramilitary organization Overwatch was now involved in their scheme, and seemed to have brought a number of complications into their plan along with it, the nature of which Satya was not entirely aware of.

Nonetheless, Satya had been prepared to take risks in light of a lack of verifiable information, and she did not feel as though the potential consequences were dire enough to request that Sombra put an end to her machinations. She knew little outside of what Vishkar allowed her to know, and that frustrated her more than the perceived dangers of learning what Vishkar did not wish for her to know. Per previous discussions with Sombra, Satya had asked her friend Arun for help with Vishkar, and he had directed her to a website that would supposedly handle her request. Sombra had asked her not to use the website upon learning of this, and instead, she arranged a meeting with Ministry of Biology through Angela Ziegler. As of the 1st of March, Sombra appeared to be very confident about their plan: she was to meet with a woman named Fareeha Amari in Oasis, with a small drive containing a portion of the medical records of a woman named Amélie Lacroix, known colloquially as “Widowmaker”, and attend her meeting with the Ministry. Once there, she would reveal that she had information that would compromise the security of Oasis and demand that Oasis assist in elevating her position at her place of employment in exchange for more information on the source of the files in her possession. Dr. Ziegler believed that this would be sufficient to obtain the approval she had sought from Vishkar. This plan suited her, as Fareeha Amari would be able to alert Dr. Ziegler in the case that the operation did not proceed as planned. The hacker Sombra would also be able to assist in case her abilities were necessary.

So far, she was satisfied. However, she still perceived Sombra’s romantic feelings toward her to be a liability. She did not understand exactly how those feelings contributed to her choices, and she was not certain that Sombra herself understood how they did, either. The decision to reveal her real name on Valentine’s Day was one example. She had the sense that Sombra had not planned to give Satya her name until the very moment that she wrote it down and handed it to her. Sombra had proven to be spontaneous in action, and though she appeared to prepare in advance to some extent, she seemed just as likely to improvise in other situations. This made her adaptable to a variety of circumstances and changing conditions, and therefore an effective agent. Satya’s only concern was that she was not being truthful when she told Satya that she was performing this operation for her benefit, or that she would withdraw at some point in time before it had concluded, thus sabotaging the likelihood that Satya’s blueprints would survive Vishkar’s budget process. It seemed excessive to demand aid for this situation from one of the Ministries of Oasis, and Satya wondered if this was truly the best option, but it was also plausible that no other organization or group of people within Sombra’s or Angela Ziegler’s networks had the power to effect change among Vishkar’s business elite.

She wondered if she might seek confirmation from Sombra that she had no ulterior motive besides wanting to help Satya, apart from that which she had already described, but she doubted that Sombra would give it to her. “Love” was not an adequate justification, either, and Sombra could be as evasive as Satya’s superiors in Vishkar. There was also the possibility that she herself did not know why she was doing it, and that would be sufficient to determine why Sombra’s explanations did not satisfy. She did not dislike Sombra, for all that her prevarication and conniving discomfited her. Instinctively (instinct as of which she had been described as being deficient, though this still seemed to be the appropriate word), she understood that Sombra harbored no ill intent toward her. Satya approached the idea of being friendly with her with trepidation, as there were always risks involved in exposing oneself to close personal relationships; she did not view Sombra as an adversary, however, or as someone who wanted to hurt her.

They did not have much in common, though. If she pursued an amicable relationship of some nature with her, what were they going to talk about? In addition, her residence in Tijuana was only temporary. Sombra would have to travel to India order to see her in the future. With that consideration, it did not strike her as advisable to pursue friendship.

She had the sense that the considerable physical distance between them moving forward as well as their lack of common interest would not deter Sombra from pursuing _her_ , nevertheless, and the certainty with which she realized that disturbed her. She did not dislike Sombra, but the presumable degree of accompanying attention seemed as though it might be excessive. Perhaps it would be best to say that she was not repulsed, but rather wary of the hacker. Indeed, she was curious as to Sombra’s unusual lifestyle and the world which she represented—a world outside of the confines of Vishkar, which according to Sombra were extremely limited and whose worldview and espoused doctrines could be oversimplified and deceitful. That notion did not strike her as suspect; in fact, it seemed quite likely. She had been pleased to receive confirmation that Vishkar had been hiding much from her, and from the public at large. She was also pleased that Sombra wished to assist her in amassing influence within Vishkar, and that Sombra agreed with her ideas and appreciate the blueprints she had designed. From her, the praise had seemed more genuine than it had from many other people, especially her superiors at Vishkar. Sombra had offered her heartfelt respect, which she would gladly accept.

Sombra did not insist that she leave Vishkar either, which she appreciated. She had not been so badly abused or mistreated by the organization that she felt the need to leave; they had saved her from a life of poverty and the ills an impoverished lifestyle would have imposed on her. She owed them her health, her education, and her career—and though they may not expect it, she did not believe they would prevent her from leaving the company to pursue other paths if she ultimately chose to do so. Due to the fact that Vishkar was already a very influential organization, Satya would rather stay and develop her career within the company. Once she had achieved sufficient status, she would be able to enact her vision for the company, and extending beyond that, the world.

Sombra, to some degree, seemed to understand what it was that Satya wanted to do with her abilities, and she was happy for that. There was an intimacy in that shared belief, in that intuitive understanding of one another. And she did not believe that her instinct regarding Sombra was wrong.

It was strange. She had no particular reason to believe that Sombra understood her on as rudimentary of a level as she did, but she still felt as if that were so. She struggled to decipher the origin of the visceral connection that they now seemed to share, as well as how it might affect them in the future, but she cherished it nonetheless. It was something that Vishkar did not know about her—proof that she’d had a life lived outside the slums outside of Hyderabad, outside the white towers of Utopaea, one that was wholly her own.

It gave her autonomy. And that was something she believed herself to have lacked for a very long time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

According to Angela, Satya was to meet with not one, but several members of the Ministry of Biology. Fareeha Amari was to be her bodyguard in the case that anything happened to her during the negotiations, and she would be receiving live instruction from Angela and Sombra both. Admittedly, the thought of it made her nervous. She was not particularly adept at manipulating others through speech, unlike Sombra and Dr. Ziegler, and she would struggle to determine whether her plan was working until she received positive confirmation from the Ministry that they would comply with her demands. She was also aware that Lacroix’s records were a form of blackmail. That being said, Vishkar had blackmailed other individuals and organizations many times in the past, and she had performed a variety of other unethical tasks for them as well. She supposed this was no different, selfish as her demands were, and did not disapprove of the action.

She had her reservations, though. She could not predict in any way how the meeting might unfold. Vishkar would not protect her in a situation wherein she was not defending their interests, and though she trusted Angela to help her, she was not certain whence the help would come or at what point in time. She knew Oasis to be an extremely secure city, and they did not hesitate to arrest those who were not perceived as compliant with their laws. Nevertheless, the laws of Oasis were contradictory; they allowed for unrestricted scientific research, which meant that experiments that might be considered ethically dubious in other countries were acceptable to perform within the city limits. Angela would be able to use her extensive social and political influence to great effect there, as the laws appeared to have little effect on how problematic situations and individuals were actually handled. Even so, she did worry about the potential psychological and physical harm that she might incur. Despite Overwatch’s support, she would still not be protected from all possible dangers.

When she expressed her concerns to Angela and Sombra, Sombra seemed to interpret it as a request for another visit. This time, at least, Satya felt as though she may have actually needed it. She claimed to have bought her plane tickets as soon as Satya consented to the meeting, and arrived mere days later, on March 6th, a Saturday. It was the first time Satya allowed her to step foot in her apartment. She also noticed that Sombra had drastically changed her appearance that day.

“There are no hidden cameras in my apartment,” said Satya, as they passed through the hallways of the building and into her apartment. Was she doing this because she believed that Vishkar had installed surveillance devices in her home, as well? They did not. “You did not need to disguise yourself.”

Sombra grinned. “Wouldn’t have been able to get past the front door if I hadn’t cleaned up.”

She wore a black baseball cap with no exterior logo or design, presumably to disguise her implants. Her hair was dyed brown rather than the usual purple gradation; the length of the strand was dyed copper, which then ended in a much darker shade at the tips and roots. She had also altered her makeup, especially around her eyes. The heavy eyeshadow—a visual pun related to her preferred sobriquet, Sombra had once explained to her—had been replaced by makeup much closer to her natural skin tone, and rather than lipstick, she wore only lip gloss. There was a slight thickness to her lashes that appeared to be artificial, nonetheless. The rest of her clothes were black or gray: she wore a black overcoat with a high collar, which she then proceeded to remove, and form-fitting gray denim pants that looked somewhat worn. Her footwear was military-style combat boots that extended past her ankles up to her calves, and she unlaced them at the door. Underneath the coat she wore a V-necked, long-sleeved, gray cotton shirt. It was a slightly lighter shade than her pants, and the sleeves ended partway down her forearm. She also carried what appeared to be a laptop bag.

Sombra looked around. “You know, this place looks exactly the way I expected it to.”

“How so?”

Her apartment was arranged to be clean, organized, and easy to navigate. Most of the furniture and appliances had been provided by Vishkar. She also arranged about the living area and bedroom a number of items that reminded her of home in India. She had a TV, but she found it disruptive and did not often use it. The books on her shelves in the living area and bedroom consisted of volumes on architecture, her idol Le Corbusier, and physics and mathematics. They were arranged in alphabetical order. Books of unusual size that did not fit on the shelf were placed on their sides or stored in other areas of her apartment. The other decorative items and artwork provided by Vishkar she placed around her apartment in positions that she personally found pleasing to the eye; they consisted mainly of abstract white and cerulean blue shapes, constructed of natural materials such as glass or stone, or of an artificial material such as PMMA, known colloquially as Plexiglas.

Among her favorites was a small holographic image, suspended in a glass case, of a building she had designed for the Beirut development—the Vishkar headquarters, a fifty-story glass skyscraper that twisted on itself in the center, as though made of rubber or some other elastic material. In her opinion, it was a masterwork of engineering. It had taken her several months to design it, and many more to see its construction completed.

Sombra looked at her and smiled lopsidedly. “I think you know what I mean.” She did not, but she did not press the matter. She picked up her laptop bag, which had been deposited on the floor, and then pointed to it. “Uh…”

“What?”

“Where do you want me to put this? Don’t wanna mess up your, like, flow.” She appreciated Sombra’s courteousness and respect for her personal space, even if she had a tendency to word her sentences oddly, and use many slang phrases and words.

“The kitchen table will suffice for now.”

She unzipped her laptop bag, pulled out her laptop, set the bag on the floor beneath the table, and put the laptop on the kitchen table. It was purple and covered in several stickers, including one of a stylized skull consisting of many smaller alphanumeric symbols that she recognized as Sombra’s logo of sorts. It looked to be well-used.

“Don’t have to boot it up for now,” said Sombra. “But…” She looked around warily, as though unwilling to touch anything.

“You can relax.”

Sombra’s shoulders settled. She smiled wryly. “Feel like I’m dirtying up the place just by being in here.”

“Why?” she asked. “You appear to be clean.”

She grinned. “Now that,” she said, holding her index finger up into the air, crooked, “is up for debate, depending on what you mean by it.”

“I mean it in the most literal way possible,” said Satya, understanding that there were a number of metaphorical and figurative uses for the term.

Sombra pulled off her cap. “Let me put this away first.” She slipped it onto the coat rack she had hung her coat on, and then walked back. She ran a hand through her hair, as though to untangle it. “Feels weird,” she said, looking at her hair as her hand ran through it, “dyeing it to a normal color. Look like any old person on the street, now.”

“Was that not your intention?”

Sombra let go of her hair and looked down, perhaps at Satya’s hands, and then up at Satya’s face. “Yeah. Just not my style. Like to stick out like a sore thumb, grab people’s attention. Dressing down, looking normal so Vishkar don’t ask too many questions… I feel almost as depressing as I look.”

“You do not look ‘depressing.’”

She shook her head. “What, you don’t think dressing up all in black and gray is kinda… miserable? I’m like a funeral mourner here.”

Satya reexamined her clothes, and then looked at her face. “I believe your fashion sense is more in the style of the punk subculture, or possibly to some degree hip hop.”

“Might be right about that,” said Sombra. “Dunno if I’d consider myself hip hop, though... Not like I’m wearin’ gold chains and rapping.” She looked down at herself. “I mean, I guess I am pretty gangster.”

A thought occurred to her. “Sombra,” she said, and although she now knew her real name, she was not comfortable using it, “you do not look comfortable in those clothes.”

Her face reddened. “Guess I’m not used to looking ‘normal’ anymore. Brown hair, boring clothes, girly makeup…” She pinched a lock of hair between her fingers. “It’s, ah, pretty feminine, yeah? Got way more looks on the street on the way over here,” she laughed, “‘¡Eh, mamacita!’ and ‘¡Por acá, nena!’ Stuff like that, you know? Even with that huge coat on.”

“Why did you choose to dress in them, if the clothes made you uncomfortable?”

“Well, one,” she said, holding her index finger out, “because a Vishkar facility is the last place I want to notice me, and two,” she said, now extending her middle finger, “just felt like mixing it up for a change, since I had to disguise myself anyway.” She pulled out one of the chairs from underneath the kitchen table and sat in it. “Wasn’t really thinking when I did it, but maybe I made myself too pretty,” she muttered. “Got kind of a baby face…”

Satya sat down across from her, following suit. “You did not intend to make yourself more attractive?”

A grin slowly spread over her face. “For you?” She set her right elbow on the table, and leaned her cheek against her closed fist. “Todo lo que quieras. Anything you want,” she said, which Satya assumed to be the translation of the Spanish phrase. “You like it? ¿Te le gusta?”

She pressed her lips together, reluctant. She never knew how to respond whenever she sensed that Sombra was flirting with her. Though Sombra was usually polite toward her, more so than most other people who were not familiar with her, when Sombra flirted with her, her intent was to make Satya uncomfortable. She did not understand why Sombra did this, and she struggled to respond as a result. If it was merely that she wanted Satya’s undivided attention, then surely there were better ways to go about it. If she responded in the affirmative, what would Sombra do then? Would it lead to more troublesome questions?

She was not sure how she felt. Sombra indeed looked different, and the eyeshadow she normally wore had been replaced by more naturalistic makeup meant to emphasize her facial features, rather than distort them. She did find her current makeup more appealing than what she had worn the previous times they had met, but she did not know whether she should admit it. That seemed as if it might invite a reaction that she did not want to see or deal with.

Regardless, she settled on a response. “I do prefer it over what you usually wear.”

She chuckled. “No surprise there. People always get surprised whenever I show them I know how to put on makeup. Best way to disguise yourself—you just wear a different face.” Likely unconsciously, she moved her pointer finger in small circles against the table.

“Will you make yourself up similarly when we go to Oasis?” asked Satya.

“Probably,” said Sombra, making eye contact. “Might do something else to my hair if not just dye it. I dunno how strict they are over there about hats and stuff, but better to be safe than sorry.”

“I’m concerned,” she said, and she knew that Sombra understood what she meant. She looked down at the table. It was white and square, with rounded edges. The surface had been polished to a sheen as always. The sides were lined with a chrome finish, and Sombra’s laptop occupied about a third of it.

“About Oasis? Yeah. I know.” She sighed. “Angela’s got a whole lot invested in your visit, too. She’ll be responsible if anything goes wrong.”

Satya looked at her. “Was Dr. Ziegler always so powerful?”

“No.” Sombra paused to think. “It’s Overwatch that made her the way she is today. Now that they’re underground, Angela has the freedom to bargain with whoever she wants—criminals, dictators, politicians, businessmen, doesn’t matter. They’re operating in this weird gray area where no one wants to touch them. She got friends in so many places she’s practically invincible. At the same time, that makes her vulnerable. Everyone knows who the doc is—and where.”

“That is reassuring,” she said, tempering her voice so she did not sound so nervous, “but she will not be there in person. Only myself and presumably Fareeha Amari will be in the room.”

“What?” said Sombra, looking at her. “You afraid they might take you away?”

“Is that so unlikely?” she asked, looking back.

“No.”

Satya exhaled in frustration.

“But, wait,” said Sombra, holding out a hand as if to stop her, “we’ll get you out if that happens, yeah? Even work with our mortal enemy Vishkar if that’s what it takes. Not fair if they only arrest you.” She smiled wryly. “Especially when it’s really Angela’s fault that it got to this point.”

“And you will tell me what to say? And how to negotiate with them?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you be able to come up responses quickly enough so that there will be no awkward pauses in conversation?”

“Woah,” said Sombra. “I dunno if we can do it that fast. Um…” She tapped her fingers against the table, to distract herself. There were a number of small scars along her knuckles and on the back of her hand. “You’re just gonna have to distract them to buy yourself time.”

Satya frowned. She would not consider herself an adept conversationalist.

“You’re good about talking about, like, architecture and stuff, right? Just brag about your accomplishments.” Her fingers stopped tapping against the table. “Doesn’t matter if it’s unrelated. Just keep talking, about Vishkar, about math, about architecture, whatever. You’re going to be trying to convince them to work for you, anyway. Might as well try to impress them while you’re at it.”

She knew a great deal about mathematics and architecture, and could talk about them for hours, quite possibly to the detriment of disinterested parties. It would come in handy here, however. “I suppose I can do that.”

Sombra folded her hands. “I’ll… Uh…” She looked away, toward the kitchen cabinets. “I’ll provide backup in case anything happens. If things go well, hopefully you won’t need my help. If they don’t, then it’s my turn.”

“You will hack into the Oasis servers,” said Satya.

“Yeah. That’s only if you really get into trouble, though,” she said, waving her hand. “Don’t be too nervous. I know you may not be able to help it, but you have to seem really stoked for it or else they’re not going to take you seriously. Prepare like a… fancy speech or somethin’. You know all those complicated words, so use ‘em.”

“I expect that I will have to improvise when I no longer have a script I can use.”

“Yeah, but we’ll deal with it when it comes to that,” she said. “We’ve talked this to death, man. I dunno what else you want me to say.”

Satya thought about it. She realized she was looking for encouragement and emotional support, rather than practical suggestions as to how to handle the confrontation at Oasis. But how to ask for that, and from Sombra? Did she even want to hear those words from her?

Sombra watched her attentively, with patience to spare. She looked uncertain of what to say, herself. “It’s the makeup, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling. “Knew I should have put on more eye makeup. That part always freaks people out.”

She shook her head. “No.” Satya looked away. The silence was becoming awkward, and in truth, she was discomfited by Sombra’s appearance, though she was not sure whether that was because Sombra herself seemed uncomfortable with it or because of some other reason. “I appreciate your suggestions, and I believe I will be able to adequately prepare myself before we are due to visit.” She looked down at her hands in her lap. “I am simply afraid.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Her tone was gentle, which was unusual for her. Satya looked up, but she could not interpret Sombra’s facial expression. Sombra did not face her as she spoke. “We’re asking you to put yourself out there, in front of some of the most powerful people in the world, and demand some pretty selfish things. No one would blame you if you wanted to back out.”

“I did not say I would not do it,” said Satya. “But I cannot say for certain that I will succeed, even given every effort that I have made so far. I also still do not understand what you have to gain from assisting me. I am aware that Dr. Ziegler plans to use the data she is giving me to demand Lacroix’s release.”

“Well, for one, it’d be nice to have you indebted to me,” said Sombra. “If we succeed, and Vishkar sees that you’re not messing around, you could do some pretty incredible things with that new power. Might not seem like it now, but I think we got a lot of common goals in the long run. I mean, providing housing for the poor, and holding big corporations accountable and whatnot…” She began to mumble. “Turning the tables on rich pendejos who think they can push others around just because they got money.”

“That was your intent?” asked Satya.

“Well, yeah.” She shrugged, and began to trace circles on the kitchen table again. “I’m a hacker, a former gang member—I work with Talon, so I’m basically a criminal—and my work has never been totally legitimate. I’ve always worked on the fringes of society, because the fringes are where people have accepted me.” She looked at Satya. “You’ve lived under Vishkar’s thumb for so long, seems like only recently you’ve noticed how much you were missing out on. I don’t know what it’s like to live a ‘normal’ life, either.” She looked down at the table. “Millions were displaced by the war, so maybe I’m not so different from the rest. But I always feel as though I was missing out on something important. And when there are people out there with huge mansions and private jets, buying shit up without giving back, it makes me pretty mad.” Sombra scowled. “Ain’t fair, that they get to have so much while we fight over so little, and we so stupid we don’t even think to blame them for it. No one deserves to have so much money that they can’t even spend it all! Sits there in their bank accounts while everyone else who could be using that to feed themselves just fucking starves.”

“What would you do to change that?” Satya asked. She was curious, now.

“You ask me?” Sombra glanced at her and grinned. “Steal from ‘em and and hand out the money to poor folks. Not much of a solution, though.” She smiled and looked away. “Whole system is flawed, but I’m not sure how to fix it. The way the world works now, you can’t force people not to make money. There’s no governing body or anything that can stop you from making all the money you want and keeping it for yourself. Plus the people in power are generally the ones making the decisions, and they wouldn’t do anything that wouldn’t benefit them. People ain’t that generous. As for democracias… Mm, they good in theory, but in practice the majority of people out there are too dumb to make informed decisions—sometimes willfully so. You’d have to shove accurate information down people’s throats to make democracies work the way they should, and there’s no way in hell that’s happening.” Sombra looked at her again. “You got any bright ideas? Feel like I’m talking to myself, here.”

“How to combat poverty, you mean?” she asked. She had to think about it. “Provide incentives for businesses to develop impoverished areas and invest in long-term infrastructure—schools, roads, public transportation, public facilities, and utilities such as electricity and clean water. Once those needs have been adequately met, examine the issues that affect each individual city. Perhaps the city suffers from a high rate of crime, and that crime is fueled by an epidemic of drug addiction. Once you have determined the issue, devise a solution to resolve it. If the issue is drug addiction, then implement programs to combat the addiction. That would include, for instance, medical assistance for addicts in the form of medicine and therapy, and awareness campaigns so that the general public is informed of the threat. You cannot control what happens around the world to the level of the individual, so you cannot account for everything. However, I believe education is key, as well as…” She paused. “Proper emotional development. Empathy is something that can be taught, to some degree. Provided that the individual is not a complete sociopath, they can be taught to empathize with the way others are feeling and base their decisions around that. I believe that is a simple solution to many problems the world currently faces today.”

“Makes sense,” she said. “Think you’d know more about the business incentives and stuff than I do. More of a stick than a carrot person—though honestly it’d probably be better to promise ‘em something they want than threaten ‘em with something they don’t.” She paused. “That’s what I mean, though. You and me, I think we understand each other. We want the same thing, so, why not work together?”

It sounded practiced, like a sales pitch. Satya was wary, but then, she had always been wary of Sombra. Though she never appeared to be lying, Satya had the sense that she was never telling her the complete truth, either—about her attraction to Satya or otherwise. While Satya did not question her moral integrity, she would be remiss to trust someone who so often withheld the truth from her.

“Are you in love with me?” Satya asked. She wondered if any of this might have to do with the fact that Sombra was attracted to her. Did people so slavishly seek to please others when they were in love? Perhaps she was misinterpreting something.

Sombra blushed. She looked stunned. “Well, uh…” She was unable to speak for a few seconds. She ran her tongue over her lips. “I’m definitely attracted to you. I’m not sure if I know you well enough to—I mean, you ain’t just anybody to me, though you’re not the end-all, be-all of it either.”

That was a much more ambivalent response than she had expected, but again, Sombra did not appear to be lying about how she felt. “You mean to say that you do not feel so strongly for me that it would affect your beliefs about society and the world at large.”

“Yeah.” She nodded in assent. “That’s a good way of putting it. Can be kind of a skirt chaser sometimes, but it don’t mean I’m… err… Perdidamente enamorada?” She pinched her chin in thought. “How do you say it in English… Lovesick, maybe?”

“That was not the impression I had from you during our previous discussions,” said Satya.

Sombra smiled, and her expression became obsequious. Satya knew instantly that she was being dishonest. “Wouldn’t be doing you any favors if I were just some loca, you know?” She rested her right elbow on the surface of the table and leaned against it. “’Sides,” she said, “you wouldn’t believe me if I told you I was only doing it out of love.”

“Is that your personal belief?” asked Satya. “You are correct; I do not believe you. But tell me why you were so insistent on helping me to begin with. I have never understood why, and none of the justifications you have given me so far have satisfied me.”

“Is it that big of a deal?”

She frowned in frustration. She did not believe Sombra to be malicious. She wondered if the emotional turmoil she was feeling now might be due to nervousness, or the fact that she did not fully trust Sombra, or the fact that Sombra’s professed romantic feelings for her made her a liability based on the generally accepted idea that people acted unusual when they were in love with someone, especially in regards to the object of their affections.

“Yes,” she said.

Sombra’s eyes widened in surprise. “I… I don’t know,” she said, sitting upright. “I mean, impulse at first, and then… I didn’t want to back out, you know? Much as I tend to be all sneaky, I like to think that I’m a woman of my word.”

“Then all of this was due to negligence,” Satya concluded. “You are helping me because you did not want to seem thoughtless, even though at the time you acted out of impulsiveness and an utter disregard for the future consequences of your behavior.”

Sombra smiled. She seemed to smile frequently, even when she did not appear to be happy. “Burn,” she drawled. Her posture grew slack, and she hunched over the table. “But,” she said, setting her elbows on the table, “it’s not like I regret getting involved. I stuck it out, and now here we are. And whatever you do, we got your back.”

Satya looked down at the exposed skin of her arms, flecked with moles and covered in a regular pattern of fine hairs. Sombra wrung her hands; they were rarely ever still. The sight made her restless. She looked away. Even the familiarity of her own apartment, the objects set in their proper places, seemed too much to bear. Why did she allow Sombra to come here? What had she been seeking? She had lived alone for most of her life, surrounded by robots and teachers and coworkers; she’d never had anyone resembling a parental figure; she found it difficult to make friends; she had very few personal relationships; her sense of self-worth she had connected utterly to her career and her architectural creations.

But it wasn’t enough.

She felt a dampness on her face, and when she realized they were tears, she began to cry. She covered her face.

“Satya?”

She wept in a distressed near-silence.

“Uh…” Sombra sounded anxious. “Fuck. Are you OK?”

She clenched her teeth. There were facial tissues, but she had to go to the bathroom to get them. She did not look at Sombra as she stood up and walked to the bathroom, and she shut the door for privacy.

She composed herself within minutes, but her throat was swollen and her nose was running, and her eyes were still wet. When she opened the door again, there was Sombra sitting at the kitchen table, bewildered.

“Did I… Did I say something to upset you?”

“No,” said Satya, trying in vain to control the muscles of her face, trembling and twisted as they were. “I simply do not know what I will do if I fail. I appreciate your concern, and your willingness to come all the way to my apartment and listen to me speak and attempt to placate my anxieties.” She stared at the floor. “I am grateful.” She clenched an unused tissue in her right hand. “I am…” Her mouth trembled. “I am overwhelmed. I do not know what to do. I will go there; I will do what I can; and I will simply have to accept the consequences if my best efforts are not enough. I believe I may have wasted your time in inviting you to come here. I doubt that anything you say or do will be able to allay my fears.”

Sombra stood up from her chair. She looked as though she wanted to approach her, but hesitated. “Err…” She looked away. “You wanna…” She looked around the room. “What do you do to relax, normally?”

She thought back to her bedroom. “Follow me,” she said, and straightened her posture, and led Sombra to her room.

 

Her drafting table rested against one wall of her room. It was flat, white, with rounded edges, much like her kitchen table, but equipped with the standard Vishkar lasers that allowed it to project interactive holograms. She put on her modeling glove and flexed the joints, first, and then instructed Sombra to sit on the stool next to the drafting table.

“You gonna do the arm thingy again?” asked Sombra, gesturing to her own elbow.

Such mediocre diction. However did this woman grow on her, she wondered.

“Yes,” said Satya, and activated the lasers. The last project she had been working on was the Tijuana development, of course. Projected onto the table’s surface was a 3D map of the entire development as well as several extra meters of the surrounding area.

Sombra looked down at the map. “This is so cool… I mean, I shouldn’t be so impressed by holograms, but I don’t know how you guys manage to make ‘em so big, or, like, touchable.”

“It is not a trade secret,” she insisted. “The technology is cost-prohibitive, but it is not patented and any company ought to be able to use it.”

She leaned down and examined her plan. She had exhausted herself working on it, lately; she had received little word from her superiors at Vishkar in the past few weeks, and their silence was concerning. The survey and modeling equipment remained in the desert, but she did not know for how long they would idle there.

Then she had an idea. She looked at Sombra. “I have a question for you,” she said.

She looked at her. “Yeah?”

“You say that you and I think alike, because we both strive to eradicate poverty and award justice to those who have been slighted by powerful organizations. But you are a hacker, and I am an architect.”

She nodded. She rested her hands in her lap. “Yeah. Go on.”

“You say that you want to help me advance my career within Vishkar,” she continued, “without knowing exactly what I will do with that power. It is not unlike you to manipulate other people through blackmail, theft, and distribution of sensitive information. I doubt that you will coerce me into working for you through any of these methods, but if that is not your intent, then I suppose you will want to cooperate with me to achieve the exact same goals as I wish to?” She looked back down at her plans. “Those in Vishkar’s marketing department understand that people do not wish to be imposed on, and do not like feeling as though they are being manipulated, but our decision makers—the elite of the company—understand just how easily people can be influenced by the houses they live in, the streets they walk, their very surroundings. How do we design buildings and developments that are not only functional, aesthetically pleasing, and culturally appropriate, but also reflective of Vishkar’s aims of creating a better world? When people navigate a building and use its facilities, how does the construction of the building affect their behavior both within the building and outside of it?

“We at Vishkar study not only elements of design, but human psychology, social theory. We want to understand the unconscious forces at work when one interacts with a building and with their man-made surroundings. If we are doing our job correctly, the world becomes not only more efficient and more convenient, more comfortable and more secure, but also more tolerant, more compassionate, and more humane.” She opened her armored hand, and then clenched it into a fist. “Do you think it is possible to design one’s surroundings so that they are unconsciously influenced to be a better person?” She looked at Sombra.

Sombra was quiet. “That’s a tall order, querida,” she said, after a moment. She shifted in her seat. “I didn’t realize Vishkar was doin’ all of that, ‘cause it don’t seem to be making it to the finished product.”

“Vishkar is a very large corporation,” she explained, looking away. “We are involved in many different areas of art, science and mathematics. But we are on the cutting edge of architectural theory, and that includes philosophical considerations. There is no doubt that how one’s physical surroundings look and feel—how convenient or comfortable they are perceived to be—influence one’s personal behavior. Much of that is designed by humans, and it would be irresponsible of us to neglect that one simple fact.” Satya looked at her again. “If you do not believe that we could intentionally facilitate human goodness through architecture and interior design, I suppose you will not be very impressed by anything else that I might have to say.”

“You can really study that?” said Sombra. “It just seems so…” She shook her head and looked down. “Wacky, I mean. Not to offend, or anything, but that’s like, beyond brainwashing. I understand that if maybe you design a building where the hallways are too narrow and everything feels cluttered and claustrophobic, you’re not going to—oh.”

Satya smiled.

“You can make someone feel more comfortable by designing a building that’s nice to walk around in,” said Sombra, slowly, “but I don’t think you can make somebody a better person just by doing that.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“A jackass is gonna be a jackass no matter whether he’s stressed or not. Nice lady is gonna be nice even when times are hard. Maybe the nice lady will be able to do more if she’s not…” She shook her head. “I mean, it’s not gonna stop the jackass, is what I mean,” said Sombra, looking up at her. “But I guess, if the nice lady can get around easier, and her kids get home from school on time ‘cause there’s no traffic jams and the house isn’t falling apart because it’s made from good materials and constructed well, then I can see how she might be able to relax and make better decisions, yeah.” Sombra nodded. “Not really something most people think about, but I can see where you’re coming from.”

Satya felt a warmth unfurling in her chest, slowly. She felt pleased, and she smiled. “How do you believe you might be able to help me in this endeavor?”

Sombra laughed aloud. “Corazón,” she said, “believe me, people are not gonna like what you have to say. Even if it’s the truth. Even if it’s what’s good for them. I can help you do that.” She leaned in, toward her, and held out her right hand. “Your ideas are fantastic, but those payasos are gonna need some convincing. I know you not always sure you can hack it, so don’t be afraid to ask for a little backup, no?” She looked up at Satya. “Let me help you help yourself.”

She looked at Sombra’s hand, still outstretched, and tentatively placed her right hand in hers. As Sombra’s fingers closed around her hand, it occurred to her that they had never touched before.

Sombra leaned in and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and Satya felt a thrill up her spine and a rush of heat up her neck, and opened her mouth to protest but found herself to be mute. Sombra looked up at her and grinned.

“Bien,” she said. “¡Órale, vamos!”


	10. Chapter 10

The job couldn’t have had a worse start.

“Angela, I know I usually don’t sound this angry, but the moment I touch ground in Gibraltar I am going to fucking kill you.” Fareeha pressed her earpiece in place, speaking through clenched teeth.

She paced back and forth in the lobby at The Grand Meridian Hotel in Oasis, a gold sequined monstrosity of a desert resort. The main building was thirty stories high, but the hotel itself stretched outward in both directions, with an east wing and a west wing and multiple ballrooms and reception areas. Fareeha had spent at least an hour memorizing the layout of the place, as well where her client was going to stay, and plotting out escape routes and noting down fire exits and just marveling at how expensive it all was. As someone who had spent most of her adult life residing on bare-bones military bases or in cheap apartments, she wasn’t sure whether to feel sick to her stomach or flat-out impressed. The layout of the hotel, thank God, was simple and ergonomically designed, so at least she wouldn’t worry about where they would go in case of an emergency.

“Schatz,” she purred, all faux sweetness, “you can do whatever you want with me as soon as you get back.”

Planted in the middle of the main lobby was a fountain with a sculpture in the middle that sprayed water in the shape of a double helix—appropriate for Oasis, she supposed. She had taken the job at her lover’s request; she was offering HSI good money for Fareeha to do it and despite the other parties involved, Fareeha accepted the fucking assignment from her bosses. Sombra, the little wretch that Angela loved but that she herself loathed, had talked Angela into some sort of plot involving a Vishkar architect named Satya Vaswani and Widowmaker, of all people. The entire idea had been ludicrous from start to finish, and endangered Vaswani most out of everyone, and she’d been horrified to hear that the woman was autistic on top of everything else and going to be speaking in front of the Ministry of Biology, as if they hadn’t taken advantage of her enough already? Negotiating backdoor deals was a skill that required extreme social finesse, which to her understanding, Vaswani, being autistic, _did not have_.

Angela, the smartass that she was, withheld such information from her until Fareeha arrived at the hotel, and then she had decided to warn Fareeha after she had confirmed that Satya’s hotel room was free of anything compromising; Oasis hadn’t been onto them. Her check-in wasn’t until 15:00, and she’d been pacing back and forth frothing at the mouth at Angela because she didn’t know what else to do. She was plenty happy to guard Vaswani, and she could even tolerate dealing with Sombra, but as soon as she’d heard that Vaswani was autistic and had issues modulating her speech—

“Why even bother telling me, honestly?” asked Fareeha. She was dressed in brown slacks and a clean black shirt for today, both men’s cut for the sake of emphasizing her height and authority. Her suit as well as her vest were in her luggage, for tomorrow when Vaswani arrived. She’d only taken a handful of jobs as a bodyguard in particular in her time at HSI, and not once for Overwatch, so this job was novel, to say the least. Still, the chances that Vaswani would succeed were looking more dicey the more she heard about what Angela and her hacker friend were planning.

“I…”

“You figured I’d say no if you told me any earlier.” Fareeha stood to one side of the lobby and checked her phone, a loaner from the company. 13:50. They’d probably let her in now. Perhaps it would be better to continue their conversation in her hotel room, if this whole business was supposed to be a secret. “But you didn’t want me to be surprised once I actually saw how she behaved around me.”

“She’ll be tuned into our private comm channel,” Angela explained. “The one we use for Overwatch.”

“The one we’re using now,” said Fareeha, leaning against the wall. Floors and floors of hotel rooms lurched above her, and adjacent to that, a cascade of windows rising thirty stories high, allowing for a clear view of the city of Oasis and its desert surroundings.

“We’ll be talking her through every step of the way. Besides,” she said, “she’s an architect. She’s a seasoned negotiator.”

“Angela, you know this isn’t the same.” She groaned. “There’s no predicting how the Ministry is going to react to her. If we’re lucky your little gambit will pan out and no one will get hurt, but if we aren’t, I hope you and your friend Sombra have a backup plan.” She checked her phone again. 13:52.

“We do,” she said. “This is an Overwatch operation, remember. Helix is aware of the stakes.”

“If you told them Vishkar was going to be in our pockets—”

“I wouldn’t say I’d go that far—”

“Ah,” Fareeha growled, “forget it. Give me a moment to check in; I’ll call you back.”

“All right,” said Angela.

After checking in, she took the elevator to her own hotel room. That, too, she checked for plants, but she didn’t find any. It was on the twenty-second floor, next to Vaswani’s room, with a pleasant view of the city, and the bed and bathroom were to her satisfaction. Her luggage was left untouched; the briefcase was locked, at any rate, as per HSI standards. She had guarded facilities in Oasis before, but the place never ceased to give her the absolute creeps. The city was loaded with cameras and an obscene number of checkpoints. She’d gotten clearance for everything beforehand through HSI—as had Sombra, through less than legitimate means—and was going to spend the rest of her day inspecting the conference room at the university Satya would be meeting the Ministry in, and charting out routes to get there and back to the hotel and possibly out of the entire city if necessary. She had done prep work ever since she had agreed to take on the job, but these things always looked different in person, and sometimes the materials she was given by the company, or that she found online, were out of date.

Once she had unpacked her things in her room, she called Angela again.

“Fareeha.” Her voice was soft, laced with concern. She bit back the urge to scoff. She loved Angela to death, would give her the moon, so on and so forth—but sometimes it was hard to tell whether she was just being a little shit or if she were genuinely worried about something, especially over the phone. “About Vaswani…”

“Is there anything else I need to know? Please. Preferably before I’m due to meet her.”

“She… Well… Do you know why any of this is happening in the first place?”

“You said you had a client from Vishkar that needed protection,” said Fareeha, “and that this job was more or less off the record.” She looked around the room. No bugs, but she was still paranoid. “I know it has to do with freeing Lacroix, and that’s why your hacker friend is involved. I’m just not sure how an autistic architect ended up in the midst of all of this. Why is she meeting with the Ministry of Biology?”

“She’s going to blackmail Oasis into helping her build a housing development in Tijuana—using a portion of Widowmaker’s medical records.”

“Why?” asked Fareeha, flummoxed. “Why are you helping Vishkar build a housing development in Mexico?”

“Not me,” she said. “Sombra.”

“For God’s…” She groaned. “What is it with you and her? What do either of you have to gain from helping her, other than the whole…” she pinched the bridge of her nose, “thing with Lacroix?”

“I told you about Vaswani, did I not? She’s one of Vishkar’s most in-demand architects. If she’s allowed more control over their projects…”

“So Vishkar really is going to be in our pockets, after all,” Fareeha deadpanned. “Helix is going to love this.”

“I think it’s fair,” said Angela. “Sombra has quite the affinity for this woman, personally.”

“I don’t even want to know,” Fareeha scoffed. “This whole affair is sounding more like a soap opera by the minute.”

“And you’re the stalwart bodyguard!” she chirped. “I know you’ll do everything you can to see this through. I probably shouldn’t say this over the comm channel, but I…”

“Yes,” Fareeha sighed, and then smiled. “I do too.”

Angela exhaled on the other line. “Good luck out there. You know what to do if you need backup.”

Fareeha hung up, and then looked over at the window, where modern glass buildings clashed with classical Arab architecture, and the traffic never seemed to cease. Oasis, huh.

 

After looking over the university, her last order of business for the day was to meet with Sombra, her immediate “backup” and resident internet security expert. Sombra had had a late flight, and arrived just shy of 21:00, long past Fareeha’s dinnertime. They met inside the hotel lobby. Sombra was dressed less ostentatiously than she had expected.

“Nice wig,” said Fareeha.

The hacker grinned. “Thanks.” It was short, barely past chin length, brown, and wavy. It seemed off on her somehow, or perhaps that was because all of Angela’s descriptions of her pointed to the woman being either a clown, a socially inept nerd, or a megalomaniac with no intention of looking like any old person on the street. The woman in front of her looked like any old person on the street. In fact, she looked so normal that that fact was almost suspicious in itself.

She raised her eyebrows. “So, should I call you…”

Sombra cleared her throat. “Lucía Gonzalez.” She extended her hand, and Fareeha gripped it and shook it. “Vaswani’s been instructed about that, too, so don’t you worry about her.”

“Lucía,” Fareeha repeated. “I’m Fareeha Amari of Helix Security International. I’ll be guarding Satya Vaswani for the duration of her stay. I understand you are involved in this operation as well…?” She rose an eyebrow.

She shook her head and held a hand up. “I am a hacker, Miss Amari. That means Oasis is gonna focus all its attention on me if I even think a hackerly thought.” Sombra looked around. “Why don’t we take this up to the hotel room? I need to check in, anyhow.”

After reconvening in Sombra’s hotel room, which looked exactly like Fareeha’s, Sombra showed her her briefcase. “See this?”

“Yes?” she said. There was nothing special about it, except that it was purple and appeared to be ballistics-proof, judging by the thickness of the covering.

“This contains my equipment. For sneaking around. From Talon. Thermoptic camo and translocator set.” She picked it up and tapped the side. “Requires me to wear a special outfit that I am absolutely gonna get caught on camera for if I wear it, which is stupid, because that defeats the purpose of sneaking around. That’s why normally I only use it for Talon operations, ‘cause then I got like a million guys covering my ass and I can always fuck with the camera footage later. I can suit up if I really need to, but that means blowing my cover. Won’t be able to set foot in Oasis… like… pretty much ever if I dress up for ‘em.”

“All right,” said Fareeha, patiently. “And the reason you’re telling me this is because…?”

“If the Ministry reacts badly to hearing that Vaswani has Widowmaker’s records, you might not be able to get past their security. Whole place gets put on lockdown, you’ll have to bust a wall open in order to escape. I can hack my way into their security, but that’s going to draw a lot of attention and cause a lot of problems no matter what. Only going through all this trouble if you’re seriously fucked otherwise. And you got the panic button in case Mercy needs to call in Overwatch.” Sombra whistled. “At that point, we all goin’ straight to Gibraltar to figure out how we can salvage pissing off Oasis anyway.”

Fareeha narrowed her eyes. “So… Wait. You decided on this knowing that you might compromise the entire Overwatch organization in the process? If we become the enemy of Oasis—”

Sombra shrugged. “You become the allies of a bunch of other places—think those that are in direct competition with Oasis. Overwatch is small, so it’s not like Oasis can do much against you guys anyway. You don’t have a reputation to lose, and your men are as loyal as they come.”

She frowned. “That’s so risky, though. Is a potential alliance with Vishkar worth it?”

“Fuck yeah,” she said, sitting on her bed. “I dunno what part of ‘multinational corporation’ screams ‘not worth it’ to you, but Mercy and I could both do a lot with the resources Vishkar has to offer. Failure means we have to lay low for a while, but success means we have access to the entire Vishkar network. That’s assuming Vaswani’s plan works out in the end. Still a chance for that to fail, but this is one step closer to seeing our girl win first place.”

Fareeha exhaled. “So, let me get this straight—if Angela’s plan succeeds, not only is Overwatch in a position to form an alliance with the Vishkar Corporation, but Angela is also in a position to negotiate Widowmaker’s release from Talon?”

“And Vaswani gets the recognition she wants from the company,” Sombra added.

She nodded at Sombra. “And you’re here because…?”

Sombra smiled brazenly. “Because I love seeing that little knot you get in your eyebrows whenever Angela and I plot behind your back, Amari.”

She resisted the urge to slug Sombra in the face, right under the jaw. “Have it your way,” she said, unmoved. “I hope Vaswani’s safety is worth more to you than that, or you’ll be answering to the both of us.”

“Hard to believe,” the little jackass said, resting her chin in her hands, “but you’re even more gorgeous when you’re angry.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, after taking a light breakfast and meeting with her partner from HSI, Saleh, she drove her client from the Oasis airport to the hotel.

Now this was a woman who knew how to dress. Not surprisingly, Vaswani was Indian, and she chose to dress in a blue and white sari for the occasion—Vishkar colors. The fabric of the petticoat was even printed in Vishkar’s usual diamond pattern. The ensemble was elegant and flattered her figure immensely, and Fareeha took care not to seem too appreciative of how good it looked on her. Vaswani spoke with an unusual inflection, due to her condition, she supposed, but she was otherwise polite and seemed wholly aware of what was going on. Despite the fact that she did not make eye contact with Fareeha, she exchanged glances with Sombra several times once they met at the hotel. They seemed to have, in Hana’s words, a “thing”.

Sombra looked them both over, side by side, and whistled. “You guys going to a private meeting, or a fancy celebration? You could sneak into a Hollywood party dressed like that.”

Fareeha looked down at her suit. She wore no tie, as it was not part of the dress code for women at HSI, and she had left the collar unbuttoned because at this point she cared little about seeming casual for such a straightforward job. Compared to Vaswani, though, she did feel underdressed. “I’m her bodyguard,” she said. “This is standard wear for these types of assignments.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, but next to her…” She looked to Vaswani. “Oh,” she said, “one more thing. You brought your laptop, right, Satya? Said you were going to give a presentation and all?”

Vaswani nodded once. “I did.”

“Let me install a few things for you, then.”

Fareeha followed them both to Vaswani’s hotel room, and stood attentively at the door while Sombra sat down and made her adjustments. Sombra traded cautious glances with her as she talked to Vaswani, and Fareeha did not break eye contact. She watched the two of them interact—they seemed comfortable in the other’s presence, as though they had been friendly for a while. Vaswani was stiff and reserved to the extreme, but around Sombra her posture slackened and she relaxed more. How anyone could feel this comfortable around the hacker baffled Fareeha. She figured Sombra must have devoted months to trying to earn Vaswani’s trust; there was no way they could have been this familiar with each other, otherwise.

Then she heard Angela’s name.

“This program I’m installing on your machine is gonna let Mercy intervene if she needs to,” Sombra explained, turning to Vaswani. “Not… sure how much it’s going to actually help, but she insisted on it, so she’s getting it.”

“I see,” said Vaswani. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Sombra shook her head. “Not now. You have your earpiece in, so you can receive instruction when the time comes. I trust you’ll be able to give a presentation and listen to us at the same time, right?”

“I will attempt to,” she said.

Fareeha could have sighed. According to Angela, Sombra was someone she could trust, but according to Angela, Fareeha was also supposed to trust criminals of all sorts if they were working alongside Overwatch. It didn’t sit right with her. She continued to monitor them as they spoke. They were twenty-two stories up, so no one could break in through the window unless they climbed or flew up there. The door was behind her, so she would know if someone were trying to enter. She kept one ear on the conversation, and one ear on whatever might be going on outside in the hallway.

Vaswani was not restless, which was convenient for a bodyguard like her; it meant that she did not try to leave her hotel room at every opportunity or intentionally expose herself to dangerous situations. She stayed put while Sombra talked her through the operation.

Then Angela spoke into her earphone. “How’s it looking out there, Fareeha?”

“Fine,” she replied. “All clear so far. If anyone has anything to worry about, Sombra claims that it’s her, and not our client. I really don’t think Oasis knows yet.”

“That’s what I’d like to believe,” said Angela. “Can you hear me, Sombra, Vaswani?”

“Yes.”

“I can.”

“You said you were concerned about the omnics, Sombra?” said Angela.

“Dunno if you’ve realized this, doc, but the original designs for the omnics were lost when Omnica closed down,” replied Sombra. “Means no one can build ‘em anymore, which means that even though we can disassemble them and figure out what makes ‘em tick, we can’t really update them with security patches to fix their flaws without a whole lot of… reverse engineering, I guess. Whatever else they might be downloading as part of their hardware processes, especially since they have such advanced AI, we just don’t know. That means God Machines, Talon, hackers, so on and so forth, could be breaking into them without us knowing. All this bullshit about omnic rights and whatever ignores the fact that they’re machines whose minds can be hacked. Aren’t you dating someone who knows all of this already?”

“Fareeha?”

“Sombra’s right,” she said. “Anti-omnic combat operations usually involve shutting down the malicious actor at its source, such as a copy of a God Program. Omnics who are unable to control their own processes stop functioning after the intruder has been dealt with, but they’re a danger until then. I highly doubt we’ll be running into any problems of that nature concerning Vaswani, but Sombra has reason to believe that the whole city might go berserk if she attempts to hack into their security systems.”

“You think Oasis has modified their own omnics?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Sombra. “Place is pretty much a police state. Why not make the omnics patrol the place, too, even if they’re normally supposed to be waiters or something?”

“What is the need for you to hack into the security systems?” asked Vaswani. “Does Dr. Ziegler not have contacts in the area? You said that you would negotiate our release if we were to be captured.”

“That depends on how you’re captured,” said Sombra. “If they’re diplomatic about it, maybe. If they don’t look like they’re gonna let us out alive, sure as hell I’m gonna try to hack you outta there.”

“Do you really think you have the influence to pull this off, Angela?” asked Fareeha. “You know this is only going to work if the Ministry is cowed into doing your bidding. Otherwise they’re just going to shoot the messenger—pardon the expression—and then hunt you down.”

“It is worth putting the entire city on lockdown, though?” asked Angela.

“You’re threatening Oasis’s good name, and you have hard evidence to back it up,” she said. “I’d say that’s worth plenty. Once those files are out in the open, there’s no taking them down.”

“They’ve already lost,” she insisted. “I’m in Gibraltar with the files—they have no way of getting to me right away.”

“True,” said Sombra. “They can threaten us however much they want; the info’s already out there. And Angela’s fucking heartless. Bet you’d release the files as soon as they hurt a hair on Satya’s head, eh, mi ángel?”

“Indeed. We would do everything in our power to prevent that from happening, of course, but most important is that Oasis understands they’re at a disadvantage. The only remaining issue is whether the Ministry will accept that they can do nothing else to stop us.”

“Except hear you out,” said Sombra. “I got the feed to Vishkar HQ up, too, if we’re still doing that. What you think?”

“I’ll direct that question to you, Vaswani.”

“I do not believe it would put me in a favorable position at Vishkar for them to see that I was blackmailing the Ministry of Biology in Oasis,” said Vaswani. “I am a valuable member of the company, but I am not invaluable—even I might be replaced. It will confuse them, at best; at worst it will be seen as a betrayal.”

“Better to you to feign ignorance, huh,” said Sombra.

“That is not what I meant,” she replied. “But it is better for them to know the truth only after the Tijuana plans have been finalized and we begin construction on the site.”

“Does that address your concerns, Fareeha?” asked Angela. “I don’t want you to have any lingering questions—that goes for everyone—and you especially have a good eye for these things.”

Fareeha sighed. “Well, you know what they say about cornered animals. But if you really believe you have this one in the bag, so to speak, I suppose so.” She turned to Vaswani. “Saleh will be ready and waiting with the car when you are prepared to go out, Miss Vaswani. We will drive you to the university, guide you to the conference room, attend to you while you give your presentation, and then leave as scheduled. Do you have any other detours you would like to make before we leave for your meeting?”

Vaswani turned to Sombra. “Where will you be, exactly?”

She flapped her hand. “Around,” she said. “My keycard gives me access to the library, so I’ll just hang around there until I have somewhere else to go.”

Vaswani held her gaze, as if she wanted to tell her something else.

“Yeah?”

“There is nowhere else I would like to go,” she told Fareeha, without looking at her. “I hope this proceeds as planned.”

“Yeah,” said Sombra. “Me too.”

 

The rest of the morning proceeded without event. After Vaswani and Sombra had made their final preparations, Fareeha guided Vaswani to the car, where Saleh was waiting for them. They buckled in and made their way to the university, to the biology building where members of the Ministry would be visiting her. They arrived early, so Vaswani could set up her laptop at the podium. Fareeha had checked the room yesterday; she inspected it again and came to the same conclusions.

Then, one by one, the members of the Ministry trickled in and seated themselves around the long table in the conference room. There was Dr. Jun Li, Dr. Tariq Hassan, Emil Rosenkopf, Fayruz Mosfi, and lastly, Angela’s old friend, Dr. Sa’id Al Rassam. Al Rassam, Angela told her, would recognize the file right away, and might possibly be the first one to object to the file being shown. Vaswani had been informed in advance of all of this, but it did not seem to deter her.

Fareeha stood guard by the door while Vaswani introduced herself to the members formally. She sounded stiff—hardly a surprise. The people in the room showed similar disinterest, perhaps a little confusion, as to whatever was going on, and she wondered how much they’d been told in advance. Al Rassam looked more anxious than the rest. Was it he whom Angela had asked to arrange this meeting?

Vaswani dimmed the lights and began her presentation. She began with a brief history of the Vishkar Corporation, and her part in it. Then, she began to rattle off her accomplishments in detail. The members did not look impressed; they weren’t architects, so they wouldn’t be. Al Rassam, however, listened attentively. Sombra and Angela were quiet on the line, though they could hear every word coming from Vaswani’s mouth. Vaswani droned on in her toneless voice for another thirty minutes before her presentation came to an end.

“In conclusion, that is why I hope to enlist your help in ensuring the future of the Tijuana project, as it was intended.” Vaswani gave a cursory glance around the room. “Are there any questions?”

Al Rassam made contact with the other members, and then raised his hand.

“Yes,” said Vaswani. “Dr. Al Rassam.”

He cleared his throat. “I believe… that will be all.”

The other members were silent.

“What is your verdict?” asked Vaswani. “Was that sufficient explanation as to why further assistance is needed regarding the development?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Dr. Al Rassam,” said Rosenkopf. “You seem to have the matter in hand. Was it necessary to drag the rest of us in here?”

“I…” He briefly made eye contact with Fareeha, who stared back. He looked desperately at Vaswani, who did not return his glance. “Miss Vaswani,” he said. He paused. The other members were beginning to look uncomfortable. “Is… that all you intended to say?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “That is all.”

Mosfi looked less than satisfied. “What was the meaning of asking us this?” she said. “We are biologists, not architects. We can certainly lend you the help through the appropriate Ministry, but… Was there something you had to offer in return?”

“Al Rassam’s such a fucking chump,” Sombra muttered on the line.

Vaswani’s brow crinkled. “I believe Dr. Al Rassam will be able to inform you of the details.”

Mosfi looked at him. “Dr. Al Rassam, would you mind…?”

He swallowed. The other members all had their eyes on him.

Fareeha took a few steps closer toward Vaswani, watching the doctor.

“Vaswani,” he said, his voice rough and distorted with nerves, “you came here under the patronage of Dr. Angela Ziegler.”

There was a collective gasp among the other four members.

“Dr. Ziegler? The Swiss one?” said Dr. Hassan.

Al Rassam stumbled over his words. “She…” He clenched his teeth. “She said you may have something you want to show us in… in the case that we did not see fit to offer our assistance.”

“It is not necessary if you would simply accept,” said Vaswani.

Fareeha began to scowl. Here it was.

“Blackmail?” asked Mosfi. Al Rassam jerked his head toward her.

“If you would simply accept,” Vaswani repeated, “then there will be no further need for negotiation.”

Al Rassam began to sweat. “That damn doctor…” He muttered something under his breath in what sounded like Arabic. Fareeha fought back the urge to raise her eyebrow; it was something along the lines of having no other options. What had Angela done to this poor man?

Rosenkopf stood up. “This is your problem,” he told Al Rassam, angrily, “and I’ll have no part in it. Do what you must.” He walked toward the door and left, and Fareeha watched him walk down the hallway.

One by one, the others left as well, until it was only him and Mosfi left. Vaswani remained standing upright, and it was only then that Fareeha noticed that she seemed to be trembling a little.

Mosfi looked at Al Rassam, and then at Vaswani, conflicted. “If that’s all you want…” she said to Vaswani. Then she looked at Al Rassam, who was sweating and shaking with, what, fear? Anger? “What did Dr. Ziegler tell you, Sa’id?”

He switched to Arabic, as if that would change the fact that any of it had ever happened. “She… She…” He stood up and pounded the table with his fist. “Damn it!” He glared daggers at Fareeha. “Fuck you!” Then he started walking toward Fareeha. She moved in front of Vaswani.

“Sir,” she said, in Arabic, “I would politely request that you do not resort to violence.” In the back, Mosfi looked horrified.

“This is all because of your fucking girlfriend,” Al Rassam hissed in her face, the whites of his eyes intense against his dark skin and pupils. He was shorter than her, which did not make him particularly intimidating. “Overwatch is a lost cause. You are nothing. Understand me? Nothing!”

“Sa’id,” murmured Mosfi, “calm down.”

“You know what to do if you need help, Fareeha,” said Angela.

She pressed her mic on. “I know,” she said. “I don’t.”

“Just because you think you have…” He balled his hands into fists. “You won’t get away with this!”

“Sa’id!” said Mosfi. She stood up.

He spun around and glared at her. “She knows, Fayruz! About Lacroix! Widowmaker!”

Mosfi paled. “Is that why…”

“You can’t let her get away with this!”

She looked down. “What does she…”

“She wants Lacroix freed from Talon, along with this woman’s,” he pointed at her, “stupid little project.”

“Sa’id, why don’t we just agree to their terms for now? There’s nothing we can do,” she said, approaching him. “Lacroix was a mistake in the first place; you can’t—”

“She’s going to release the documentation!” he barked at her. Mosfi flinched. “Everyone is going to know!”

“You should consider controlling your temper,” said Fareeha, in English. She motioned to Vaswani behind her.

“Fuck her,” he snarled, “I don’t even know why you brought her into this.”

“Will you do it?” Fareeha asked. “You’re right. You take issue with Dr. Ziegler, not Miss Vaswani.”

He pursed his lips, infuriated. “I don’t see why I should.”

“If you are so convinced that you have a choice,” she said, “then take it up with Dr. Ziegler. She hasn’t made the records public. Yet.”

He turned around to look at Mosfi. “Fayruz,” he said, “please see this woman and her bodyguard out. As for you, Amari,” he glared at her, “this isn’t over yet.”

He stomped out.

“Al Hassan has left,” Fareeha spoke into her mic. “Angela, we’re done here. Saleh, prepare the car.”

“All right,” replied Angela. “Let me know when you’ve made it back to the car.”

“Understood,” said Saleh.

The only one of the Ministry left in the room was Mosfi. Fareeha heard someone stumble behind her, and moved quickly to help Vaswani to her feet again.

Vaswani looked ill. “Did… I did not understand most of that conversation.”

“The results were inconclusive,” she said. “Angela only managed to piss him off.” She looked at Mosfi. “I think Miss Vaswani here would like to rest a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

Mosfi was a small, mousy woman, with her frizzy black hair tied up in a bun. She looked like an old-fashioned schoolteacher. “Go ahead,” she said. She looked exhausted, the poor thing.

They allowed Vaswani to sit in one of the chairs and compose herself. “Do you need anything?” asked Fareeha. “Water? Do you think you’ll be able to walk back to the car?”

Vaswani was mute for several minutes. She looked up at Fareeha, and opened her mouth. No words came out. She tried again, and her usually fluent speech came out watery, in barely a whisper. “I… I need a little more time.”

Fareeha looked at Mosfi. “What do you think, Ms. Mosfi?”

Mosfi shook her head. She was silent for a moment. “What we did to Lacroix… it wasn’t right—but that’s what Oasis is here for. It wouldn’t be considered illegal under our laws. As for Miss Vaswani, well, she came all this way expecting something.” She glanced over at her. “I’ll need more information and permission from the Ministries, but I’m sure we’d be happy to arrange something in exchange for Miss Vaswani’s services in architecture. We’re constantly planning new buildings in Oasis. We could even offer you a new job here, if Vishkar doesn’t budge.”

Vaswani glanced at her once, and then looked away, thoroughly exhausted.

“That might be a good idea,” said Angela into her earphone. “If Vaswani approves. You could always return to Vishkar once you’ve added a few more buildings to your résumé, and by then they’ll be practically begging for you to come back.”

“You would hope,” said Sombra. “I have no idea what the hell Al Rassan was saying, but that was anti-climactic. He already knew about Widowmaker?”

“No,” said Angela, “but… Well, I may have hinted at it in our discussions.”

“His sole regret, huh,” Sombra muttered.

Vaswani rose from her seat. “I am feeling better now. Let us return.”

 

After exiting the building with Mosfi, they walked back to the car, where Saleh was waiting for them. Then they reconvened in Vaswani’s hotel room, where Vaswani downed a bottle of water. Sombra looked restlessly from Fareeha to Vaswani and back.

“So what’d he say?” Sombra asked.

“As I said before,” replied Fareeha, “he hasn’t made up his mind about anything. But Mosfi seemed willing to help. Vaswani gave her her business card and contact information before they left—and I’m positive Angela will find a way to ensure that she responds.”

Angela chuckled on the other line. “I’ll do what I can. You might want to let Vishkar know about her as well, Vaswani. They might start having second thoughts about you leaving for Oasis, if the city council’s offering you a new job.”

“Understood,” she said. She was still stiff. She looked utterly drained.

“So the worst is over,” said Sombra. She sat beside Vaswani. “You OK, Satya?” There was a furrow in her brow.

She looked at Sombra. “I will be fine,” she said. “I need time to rest.”

“Vaswani leaves for her flight tomorrow morning at eight o’ clock,” said Fareeha. “I suspect you have your own arrangements, Sombra?”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Did you notice anything off on the ride back, Fareeha?” asked Angela.

“Nothing,” she replied. “Al Rassan has his sights set pretty firmly on you.”

Angela scoffed. “I’d like to see him try. Sombra?”

“All clear as far as I can tell.” She was quiet for a moment. “I’d be careful in case Al Rassan tries anything crazy. Might be his fault and the fault of the Ministry for doing it in the first place—”

“But it does lead to dire consequences for research in Oasis,” said Angela. “Imagine what would happen if they were forced to implement an ethics board.”

Fareeha snorted.

Then Vaswani looked up and around. Her gaze settled on Sombra. “I suppose this would be an appropriate time to make suggestions for our next meal?”

“Oh,” said Sombra. “Right. Where do you nerds get lunch around here?”

 

Lunch was unremarkable, and by evening, Vaswani had retired to her hotel room. Sombra had sneaked off somewhere after eating with Vaswani, and although she seemed plenty attached to her, she’d apparently had business elsewhere in the city. Vaswani located a few points of interest in Oasis and took pictures of a few buildings whose design she intended to study later, and after dinner Fareeha attended to her in her hotel room, where she drafted designs for future projects on her tablet.

Vaswani worked in complete silence, which was useful for Fareeha’s job, but a little wearisome. Though she did have the ability to behave in a professional manner, she could do nothing to help how she actually felt, and despite the fact that she was standing still, her eyes wandered. It was impossible for even the most experienced bodyguards to stay alert for hours at a time, and the best would admit they allowed their attention to drift when they should have been fully aware of the situation. They were only human, after all.

For one, she was worried about Al Rassan. Though Angela had a right to be confident—she’d had the files on hand already, and he was the one who had something to lose, not her—the man surely had allies in other places. Fareeha wasn’t sure what a doctor in his position of capable of, but if he was anything like Angela, he would keep them busy for a while yet. Angela had also been taking more risks lately; she was a careful surgeon, and for all that her current personality suggested otherwise, she had been conscious of ethical considerations in the past. Ever since she rejoined Overwatch as, well, whatever she was now—her official title was something along the lines of “Director of International Relations” after she had refused her old position of chief of medical staff—she had been much more stringent and more stubborn than Fareeha had ever recalled her being, and they’d known each other for a while.

Worse, now that the entire world was aware of their relationship, Winston and the others turned to her for help in stifling the doctor’s unconstrained whims. Fareeha was the responsible one, the moral one, the only one Angela ever actually listened to, and as of late she had become something like Dr. Ziegler’s keeper. Overwatch was steadily gaining power as a result of Angela’s scheming, and everyone acknowledged that, but it was difficult to keep tabs on her when the resident security AI had a mind of its own and had to be negotiated with in itself, and when her closest confidantes were all cut from the same cloth as her friend Sombra here.

She’d been through a lot. Fareeha could hardly blame her. Still, for someone who had been so outspoken against the revival of Overwatch, she seemed to be falling into the exact same trap of non-accountability. Perhaps the Petras Act was nothing more than a bit of political showmanship, but even then, was it really so appropriate for Angela to be operating outside the boundaries of international law? Was international law really that effective in the first place, now that she thought about it? If not, then perhaps Angela was merely taking advantage of a fundamental flaw in the workings of the international political system, and in that case…

“Amari, was it?” asked Vaswani, interrupting her thoughts.

Fareeha turned to her. “Yes, Miss Vaswani.”

Her brows knit. “Would you happen to know where Sombra might be?”

“No,” she said. It wasn’t her job, for one. For another, she wasn’t sure whether she particularly cared to know. “Are… you concerned about her?”

Vaswani didn’t look so certain herself. Fareeha forced back an amused grin. She was tempted to prod into the details of their relationship; off-duty, she was a deliberate charmer and a busybody who by the end of the day had everyone’s deepest, darkest secrets in her pocket. Not that she did anything horrible with them—she just liked to know. In case she might be able to help. And not out of some perverse desire to learn everything about a person without divulging a single fact about herself. She wasn’t that terrible.

“I have been told that I may be less effective at judging a person’s intentions as a result of my condition,” said Vaswani. “However, I have noticed that you have glared at her many times throughout the day. You do not appear to trust her.”

Fareeha shook her head. “That’s not it. She just… rubs me the wrong way.”

Vaswani blinked and stared back, a little past her. She seemed to be deliberating over something. “She causes you unease,” Vaswani confirmed. “I believe she has that effect on many people, including myself.”

“You don’t seem to mind, though,” said Fareeha, aware that she was now breaking about five different codes of conduct by engaging in casual conversation. If Talon agents or something like that were about to burst in, she would still be prepared for them, in any case.

Vaswani looked down. She seemed vacant, but something suggested to Fareeha that there was actually quite a lot going on in her head. Maybe it was the way the rest of her body seemed so uncomfortable, sitting up straight like that, or the way she expressed herself so formally. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not used to… such candid personal attention.”

“The fawning?” Fareeha deadpanned. “Yeah. I noticed.” Sombra was respectful of Vaswani’s space, but that didn’t keep Fareeha from wanting to drag Sombra away from her and park her in a corner somewhere. For that matter, she wouldn’t want to let Angela too close to Vaswani, either.

“Do you believe it is inappropriate?” she asked, looking at her.

It was none of her business to be asking or responding to these kinds of questions, but she still felt compelled to answer. She would have thought Vaswani naive for trusting Sombra, but Angela trusted her as well. Fareeha felt her loyalties being dragged all over the place as a result; on top of which, Vaswani engendered a sort of protective instinct in her, separate from her feelings about Angela or Sombra or her assignment for that matter, but it was superficial and she tried her best to ignore it.

Fareeha sighed. “I am not in a position to comment on that.” More diplomatically, she added, “But you have sole agency over your own decisions, regardless. You shouldn’t let anyone tell you whom you should associate with, and whom you should not.”

Vaswani looked away. She seemed to consider it. “That is true,” she murmured, raising a hand to her mouth. “I will not learn if I do not allow myself to experience it in the first place. Thank you, Amari,” she said, turning to her. “You have helped me to clear a doubt from my mind.” She turned back to her work, satisfied.

About what, exactly?

About Sombra? Fareeha bit the inside of her lip. She felt like a gossipy schoolgirl. Did Vaswani like her? Was that why she was so conflicted? If so, she had an unusual way of thinking about it. She seemed to be considering the potential risks to her person more than her actual feelings regarding the woman. That was smart of her, though.

“Good luck.” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could bite them back.

Vaswani looked up at her from her desk, and smiled.

She was too good for Sombra, damn it.


	11. Chapter 11

If only Satya could be the only thing on Sombra’s mind. If only, man. If she could have told her younger self from a decade ago that she didn’t want to take over the world from the bowels of the internet because it would lead to her being chased around by some kind of bizarre online conspiracy, and that she had actually just wanted a pretty girl instead, she would. Wishful thinking now—no way Sombra could go legit with that thing stalking her, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to cling to Mercy forever—and sometimes she wondered if she should just leave Satya the hell alone after this for fear of retaliation from the Thing. If it knew she had a weakness, and that weakness was Satya, what would it do to her?

Not like they were together in any sense, anyway—and it wasn’t like Satya would ever be able to help her with the Thing.

Sombra had considered asking Angela for help in the past, but she didn’t have much to go off of in the first place, except for that one day where it had tried to hack into her head and possess her body wholesale. It had been a bad day that had extended into a bad week, into a bad month. After the implants were removed, she’d needed weeks of therapy to get her body back in order. Even nowadays she didn’t trust her body to do what she wanted, and questioned every twitchy finger and unpleasant thought. She didn’t have any hard evidence that the Thing was here in Oasis, but she was convinced. Sort of.

“Puta,” she grunted under her breath. She’d spent hours in the library looking up the Omnic Crisis, the God Programs, the Omnic language, recent advances in AI, the formation of Oasis, the fall of Overwatch, the rise of Talon, and every major event in world history over the past thirty years, trying to piece it all together. No one, anywhere, ever seemed to recognize the freaky red eye that had hacked into her interface that day, though, and that pissed her off. A few websites talked about it, but they came up with all sorts of bogus theories that missed the heart of the problem—that it was already possible to upload your brain onto the internet and live there. If anyone had done so, the process was probably faulty as hell and riddled with errors, to the point where the end result wouldn’t be recognizable as a person anymore.

Sombra’s own theory had been that the God Programs were people who had tried to achieve immortality or whatever through uploading information from their brains online and straight up failed. Instead, what rose up in their place were God Programs, hostile AIs created using bleeding-edge artificial neural networks, whose code was so vast and so complicated just getting one to run required the efforts of thousands of servers all over the world. Why they turned hostile, no one was sure. The process by which they had been created still wasn’t fully understood.

On top of which, there were flaws in the code, so it was hardly a one-to-one conversion. There were plenty of academic articles on brain-to-code conversion, and all sorts of secret and not-so-secret programs attempting to do the same thing. Angela had even set her up with a couple experts in the field of neuroscience to help explain how the process might work, and she added those ideas to her mental jigsaw puzzle. If human beings could access the internet from inside their heads, and upload their brains into computers, that meant that there was little difference between man and intelligent machine. That was why there were ethical concerns about omnics. That was why Sombra was so paranoid. That was why major religions were flipping out about whether omnics had souls, or whatever, about whether humans should be able to create life from a series of numbers, or whether it should be forbidden. Religious types didn’t like blurring the line between natural and unnatural, between God-given and manmade, between life and death.

It was, well, scary.

Angela understood that part, at least. She understood what it was like to fuck with the genetic code, to design babies, to play God. She understood the innate human desire to have control over the elements, that age-old struggle between man and nature, the known and the unknown, the mortal and the divine. That was why they worked well together. Hell, that was why they wanted to fuck each other, as if the very act would fill that aching void in their hearts, the fundamental need for something greater. Sombra knew it wouldn’t, which was why they didn’t. And Mercy didn’t fucking care either way.

The God Programs, being so advanced they were practically like magic, were quarantined in places like Oasis and Giza, and they were being studied by the world’s top scientists and researchers. There was a copy of Anubis hosted here, in a secure facility guarded by HSI. They would study the code piece by piece, neuron by neuron, vector by vector. Then they would try to determine how the God Programs did what they did, and why. Sombra was interested in both of those, but especially the “why”. Were they taking orders? Were they working together? What had caused it all to happen? No amount of scouring darknet databases would give her the answers—even though she was positive that was where the whole idea of the Thing had come from. For that matter, the darknet was where Sombra spent a good chunk of her time. Disgusting place, a hive full of child molesters and criminal activity, but also the place you wanted to go when you didn’t want to be found. Something out there was following her into the most remote corners of the web. So why the hell was it so hard to figure out what it was?

She was tempted to call Mercy and finally spill her guts, but she hated being so dependent on her. She didn’t trust anyone else to give her what she wanted, either—not Talon, not Oasis, and not some company like HSI. Satya would probably be fine as long as Mosfi wasn’t a total psychopath, and she’d had everything else under control. This was kind of her biggest issue, though. And it was her first time in Oasis. And she was too chicken to hack into Oasis’s servers because if the Thing protected the information like she thought it might, it would make her life hell.

She considered going back to her hotel room or to bother Satya, who seemed to mind her presence less and less nowadays. No reliable leads meant she had basically wasted her time here, and she hadn’t done anything weird to draw anyone’s attention. She wasn’t wrong about the Thing’s existence, but maybe she could consider herself safe, even here? Maybe she really didn’t have to be so paranoid, after all?

Seated at an empty table in the Oasis University library, Sombra touched the back of her head, feeling her wig, and below that, the empty shell of her implants welded to her skin. Had she been impulsive all those years ago, panicked? Did it really matter whether the Thing knew where she lived or not? Maybe it was just trying to scare her. Maybe it didn’t really care what she was doing, after all. She’d been useless against it ever since her implants got removed, anyway, and if it was going to be worried about anyone, it was better off directing all that vitriol toward Angela Ziegler. Sombra was a sneak, a coward. She’d spent the last seven years in hiding. She gave up real, human relationships for power, first, and then for fear that everyone was out to get her, that everyone was part of the Thing, or that the Thing would make it so. She’d lived in fear of this nightmare for so long, she had turned it into reality of her own accord.

What was it that Widowmaker had tattooed into her arm? “Cauchemar”? When Sombra asked her why she’d had something so freaky inked into her skin, she’d tossed her head back and laughed. Then she’d said something horribly profound, the way she always did.

“This has nothing to do with what I dream about at night. The only nightmares I have are the ones I wake up to every day.” She’d felt guilty about asking her, then. If anyone was being a wuss about facing down their fears, it sure as hell wasn’t her. What did Sombra have to fear? Some jackass trying to fuck with her over the internet? A robot army that the entire world was already fighting against? Her own _ideas_ about what was out to get her?

Enough of that shit.

Sombra stood up, packed up her laptop, and headed back to her hotel.

When she passed into the hotel lobby, her interface went offline.

Taking the elevator up to the twenty-second floor, it rebooted looking completely different.

By the time she made it to Satya’s hotel room, she had just about tried to claw out her eyes trying to remove her contacts. She crushed the little pieces of plastic in her fist. Her legs gave out at the doorway. Her vision swam. Satya, bless her soul, looked worried for her. Fareeha didn’t look bothered at all.

Fuck her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Sombra dropped to her knees, Fareeha did want to kick her in the face, a little. She wasn’t bothered by Vaswani, but she was bothered by Sombra looking so pathetic. If she could have picked Sombra up and thrown her out the window, she would have.

“It’s… It’s the thing,” she said, “it’s out for me; you don’t understand; it’s, it’s, it’s…” She covered her face. “¡Quiere matarme, carajo! ¡Voy a morir!”

Fareeha tried the comm channel to ask for Angela. “Angela? Are you there?”

Nothing. She had to be in a meeting or something; she always responded when at her desk. Fareeha clucked her tongue. Of all the things—this wasn’t even the one she was supposed to be protecting. Vaswani had been exhausted from her meeting, certainly, but she’d been composed otherwise. Why did she have to deal with this deadweight, too?

Fareeha looked at Vaswani, briefly, and she could read enough of her body language by now to realize that she was stressed. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. No need for everyone to start panicking.

“Sombra,” she said, looking down at her, “at least get out of the doorway.”

Was Sombra hyperventilating? She didn’t care. Fareeha clenched her teeth. Was she jealous of Sombra? Was she angry at Angela for dragging her all the way out her for her own stupid whims? She didn’t know, but she’d had a hunch today wasn’t going to be that easy.

Fareeha turned to Vaswani. “Can you help her up?” If she tried to help her, she’d probably add a few unnecessary bruises to those skinny little arms.

Vaswani nodded and bent down. Fareeha looked away as they brought her to the bed and moved back into the hotel room. And here they were: a disgruntled bodyguard, an autistic architect, and a woman on the verge of a mental breakdown. Phenomenal. Fareeha sat on the chair by the desk and watched Vaswani and Sombra sit together on the bed.

“What’s wrong?” asked Vaswani, trying to look at Sombra’s face. The irony. “Sombra?”

Sombra jabbed a finger to her right, to empty air. She didn’t want to look Vaswani in the face. “Me encontró… What I’ve been trying… Es la cosa, you know, and I’ve been trying so hard to run away from it—fuck.” She clenched her face with her left hand. “Something’s been fucking with everything I own, everything I do, and I don’t know how to stop it. Real fuckin’ ironic, I know. I should be the one doing that to other people, not the other way around.”

She couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “Sounds like you’re getting a taste of your own medicine,” said Fareeha. “Making other people doubt themselves.”

“Bitch,” Sombra muttered.

“Someone is stalking you?” asked Vaswani. “Do you have an idea who—or possibly what?”

Sombra shrugged. “Like trying to catch a ghost. Like trying to catch your own shadow. Like a stupid game of hide and seek I never wanted to be a part of, and whoever it is doesn’t just get bored and go away—”

“How do you think you make other people feel?” asked Fareeha, standing up. “What if someone’s trying to teach you a lesson?”

Sombra glared at her. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, Amari.”

She laughed in disgust. “You don’t think so?” She took a step forward. “You think you’re being cute when you manipulate other people, when you threaten to ruin their social lives, drain their bank accounts, destroy their sense of security forever? These people that you’ve stalked and blackmailed and extorted feel the exact same way about you! They think they have everything under control, and then you go in and make them miserable because you think you’re some fucking champion of justice who understands what’s best for the rest of the world. You think you can bully other people without consequence. You’re just as bad as the people you’re trying to humble, and you don’t even realize it because you’re so convinced that you couldn’t possibly be wrong that you don’t even stop to think that the same thing could ever happen to you. You’re not special, you disgusting little punk, and if someone is trying to kill you, then guess what? Welcome to the club!”

Sombra rose from the bed, infuriated. Fareeha grinned. Two fights in one day? She ended the last without throwing a punch. She could end this fight in one. “The things I’ve learned about you…”

“And you’re doing it again!” she laughed. “It’s like it’s the only thing you know how to do. You and Angela both—it’s like you don’t even know how to hold a regular fucking conversation without trying to threaten someone. Everyone talks about how ‘genius’ you are, and how ‘terrifying’ and how ‘dangerous’ when you hide behind your stupid little computer monitors stroking your ego and convincing yourself you’re the second coming of Jesus Christ. It makes me so sick,” she said, looming over her, “to think that the world might be controlled by sniggering egomaniacs in their bedrooms pressing buttons in front of a computer screen. What kind of universe do we live in where cowards like you call the shots? If you’re not even willing to face the consequences then you don’t even deserve that power to begin with!”

“Amari.”

She ignored Vaswani. “Hm?” she seethed, looking down at Sombra. “If you think you’re so talented, then why not lure this thing out and face it down yourself?”

“It’s a computer program, dipshit,” Sombra snarled. “It ain’t as simple as just going to where it lives and gunning it down.”

“So what?” she said. “So are the God Programs. You’re a hacker. Why are you so afraid of something you probably helped to create?”

“Because…” Fareeha had cornered Sombra to the wall, and she backed up against it. “Because it…”

“Because it’s doing the exact same thing to you that you’ve done to everyone else, and now you’re sniveling to your crush who doesn’t know a single thing about it. What do you expect her to do?” she asked. “What do you expect any of us to do? This isn’t my problem. This isn’t her problem; this is yours. And if you ask Angela for help I swear to God—”

“What about Angela?” asked Sombra. Out of the corner of her eye, Fareeha watched as Vaswani left the room.

She pressed her lips together and looked away. “Never mind.” She stepped back. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her chest.

Sombra looked at her. “Amari?”

Her mind was a mess. Where did Vaswani go? This idiot had gotten her so worked up she scared away her own client.

“If this is about… Well, wait, no,” said Sombra.

“Shut up.”

“This isn’t about—you don’t think we’re…”

“I said, shut up,” Fareeha said, glaring at her.

Sombra looked at her with genuine concern in her eyes. Fareeha’s balled her right hand into a fist. Her arm trembled.

“She’s not cheating on you.”

Her fist sailed. Sombra ducked out of the way, and she jerked her elbow back to stop her own momentum.

Sombra was on the other side of the room when she stood up. “At least, not with me. If this is about what I think it’s about—”

Her mouth moved on its own. “Between you and Widowmaker and this… garbage—I’m so sick of seeing everyone dance around each other—she spends all her time in that stupid little room talking to you; no one knows what the hell she’s doing; and I come here thinking she has everything under control and Overwatch may have damn well made an enemy out of Oasis, and on top of which you dragged some Vishkar architect into your scheming when you know she could have asked them through honest means.”

“Amari—”

“You want to know that truth?” asked Fareeha. She could feel tears prick her eyes. “Then fine. It’s like I don’t even fucking know her anymore. All right? I don’t care about you; I don’t care about your crush on Vaswani; but every time you say her name I want to punch you in the face.”

Sombra backed up, until she was right beside the bathroom door. “It’s not me, OK? It’s her!”

Fareeha stomped toward her, and lashed out. She grabbed Sombra and lifted her by the collar. “So you mean to tell me that this is all _Angela_ ,” she said, her voice trembling, “that all this bullshit nonsense was her doing, that you had nothing to do with—”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that—” Fareeha slammed her against the wall. Sombra cried in pain.

“Then why?” she asked. “What am I doing wrong?” Fareeha dragged her down so that her feet were on the ground. “Am I really that terrible of a person?”

“I don’t know, pendeja,” Sombra said with a wince. Her hands were gripping Fareeha’s wrists, but they were weak. “But what’s beating me up gotta do with it?”

“Because you know her. Because you’re friends with her. Because she doesn’t tell me anything important. I didn’t know about any of this until today.”

“That’s not my problem!”

“Then why does she tell you?” Sombra was like a ragdoll, limp in her hands. She didn’t even make any attempt to escape; she just looked lost.

She tugged at her collar and avoided her gaze. “I-I don’t know. Maybe…”

“Because she doesn’t trust me?”

“Because you wouldn’t understand.”

Fareeha let go, and she slinked down to the floor. “Of course,” she scoffed. “Because you understand each other so much more.”

Sombra held eye contact with her as she began to stand up. She was so passive, thought Fareeha. Why wasn’t she fighting back? Wasn’t she in a gang, before? Was she really so much of a coward that she’d just get up and run?

Sombra was right. Angela, for all that she spent so much of her time talking to people, was an introvert. She could spend long periods of time alone without becoming antsy; she could sit in front of a screen and entertain herself for hours; there was always much more going on in her head than Fareeha could even fathom at any given moment. She didn’t understand medical science; she didn’t understand computers; she understood warfare and military strategy and aerial combat. Angela didn’t believe in war. She was a noted pacifist. She did things this way because she believed it was better than direct confrontation. She worked with people like Sombra because she thought she could reduce the number of casualties by doing so. They could have captured Widowmaker during an assault on a Talon base, but instead she was trying to negotiate her release through non-violent means.

It made her so angry. Like she was doing everything wrong. Like she was somehow wrong to believe that joining the military would make a difference in the world. That following in her mother’s footsteps wasn’t a mistake. That everything she had done up until this point so far had mattered to anyone, even to herself. She had spent years after her mother’s supposed “death” climbing out of that hellish hole of meaninglessness, of grief, and rededicating herself to doing good and protecting the innocent, only to find out that her mother wasn’t dead and she could carry on her own fucking legacy after all. And now this piece of shit hacker was telling her she couldn’t even begin to understand what Angela was really like as person, underneath all the frustrated idealism. What did she know that Fareeha didn’t?

How did she know?

Something inside of her snapped. “Sombra,” she said. Her voice was flat. “Cover your neck.”

Sombra curled up into a ball, and she brought her foot hard into her stomach, drawing an immensely satisfying yelp of pain. She heard the door open, and turned to see Vaswani holding a ridiculous purple submachine gun, and before she knew what she was doing she was muttering some kind of excuse and walking out the door and into the elevator and out into the cold, where she hailed a self-driving cab and told it in Arabic to find her a bar, any bar, so she could break yet another religious rule and drink herself to oblivion. Cowards, all of them.

All she had to do was ask.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The scene was surreal. Satya’s bodyguard started screaming nonsense at her for a good ten minutes before slamming her against a wall and then kicking her in the stomach before she could get back up, and then Satya showed up out of nowhere with _her_ gun and asked her to leave, and then she did, and Sombra was on the floor clutching her gut and staring at Satya like she was an angel descended from above.

Then she noticed that her briefcase was in Satya’s right hand. Satya looked at her gun, and then placed it on the desk along with her briefcase. “Sombra,” she said, approaching her. She looked so relieved. Jesus fucking Christ, this woman.

“How did you…” Sombra pointed with one hand.

“How did I enter your room? You gave me a copy of your hotel key,” Satya explained, taking the card from the desk and holding it out to her. “You told me that I could visit your room anytime, for any reason.”

Sombra flushed. “I…” Now that her brain was coming back, she did remember doing that after she had checked in at the reception desk. “But the briefcase—”

“I used your birth name,” said Satya. “I did not know whether or not it would work, but when I said it aloud, the briefcase opened. Call it intuition.” She looked pleased with herself.

Sombra rose from the floor, slowly. If this had been a Hollywood movie or something, she would have kissed her right then and there and then dragged her onto the bed, and then there’d be a fade to black implying that they made love. As it stood now, it was Sombra and Satya standing in front of each other in the little hallway between the bathroom and the hotel room doorway, staring at each other like deer in the headlights.

She swallowed. “Um…” She looked down at the ground, and then up at Satya. “Thanks.” She rubbed the back of her neck. She wanted to ask her how exactly she knew how to put her gun together, but kept her mouth shut. Maybe she didn’t want to know.

“The gun was not loaded,” said Satya. “Amari would have been safe.”

“Yeah,” she said, looking at her briefcase. She opened it and began to disassemble the weapon. “I didn’t think you’d shoot. No need to cause any more of a scene.”

“I did not understand the content of your conversation with Amari,” Satya continued, watching her put her gun away. “What were you discussing, exactly?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it a ‘discussion,’ necessarily,” said Sombra, raising her brows, “but I guess their relationship isn’t doing so hot right now, I dunno.” She put all the parts into their little grooves in the case, and then closed it again. “Angela seems like a pretty shit girlfriend, to be honest, and Amari’s got a vicious temper. And Overwatch’s activities are all still technically illegal. Politics over there must be complicated.”

Satya furrowed her brow. She didn’t seem to get it. “But why was she attacking you?”

Sombra shrugged. “Probably jealous.” She rubbed her eyes. She wasn’t used to seeing the world without contacts anymore. Being able to look at Satya without all the notifications and shit in the way was nice, though. Less distractions.

“Jealous,” Satya repeated. “Because you are friends with Angela?”

She nodded.

“I see.” Satya looked down. “Are you all right?”

“Huh?” She rubbed her stomach. “You mean this? Yeah. She…” It’d hurt like fuck and would probably leave a nice big bruise, but she’d been hurt worse before. “She didn’t mean it. Was just taking her anger all out on me.” Angela was gonna have fun with her when Amari got back, that was for sure. Maybe they could work it in bed.

Her brow furrowed. “Her behavior was inappropriate and completely antithetical to her assignment.”

“Well, she’s gone now,” said Sombra, taking a seat at the desk. She looked up at Satya. “What you want to do? She’ll probably come back. She’s your bodyguard until tomorrow, after all.”

Satya looked at her as if she wanted to tell her something. She worked her jaw for a moment. “Before Amari attacked you,” she said, “what happened?”

“Oh. That.” Sombra turned away. “Amari’s right, honestly. Got attacked by a hacker or something. Just happens sometimes, when you fuck around on the Web. I’ll figure a way out of it.”

“You looked to be in extreme distress,” she said, concern furrowing her brow. “Are you certain you do not want to talk about it?”

“Positive.” Sombra reached out, selfishly, and took Satya’s left hand in hers. “Maybe later. Tired right now.” On top of which, she wanted to touch her so badly it was killing her.

Satya didn’t shy away. She was getting used to the whole idea, it seemed.

Wait. Did that mean she liked her back?

“Satya?” she asked.

“Yes?”

Oh, man. Sombra could feel her heart race for like the fifth time today. She wet her lips. Was Satya even interested in stuff like that? She felt like she’d be pressuring her, and Satya was so damn unresponsive at times she couldn’t tell whether she was just going along with it because she didn’t know how else to handle the attention or what.

“Do you like me?” she asked. She could feel her ears burn. Damn it, she was never this embarrassed! Why only around Satya?

Her brow furrowed again. “Do I…” Her eyes turned upward, as if in thought. Then they turned back down again, focused. “Explain.”

“Romantically,” said Sombra. “Are you interested in me that way?” Did she even have a right to ask? For all that Satya was about routine, the usual script regarding these sorts of things didn’t seem to work on her too well.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never been in a romantic relationship before.” She gripped Sombra’s hands. “It seems difficult. Regarding yourself…” Satya paused. “I suppose I am interested, but I do not know exactly how.”

Sombra exhaled. Hallelujah, she thought, she has seen the light. “That’s OK,” said Sombra, working her hands out of Satya’s grasp and sliding them up to her wrists. “I mean, we can talk about it, no worries.”

She still looked uncertain. God, if Satya bolted out the door the same way Amari had now, Sombra would crumple up onto the floor and drop dead right then and there. ¡Por favor, belleza! She’d already gotten kicked in the stomach once today! What else did she have to do, hack into Oasis? Buy stock in Vishkar? Build a fucking temple in her honor? Was Satya really going to make her wait until the entire damn Tijuana development had been built before she made up her mind?

Satya pulled Sombra’s hands off of her wrists and stepped back, and Sombra stood up. “I do not believe talking would be adequate for the emotions you are trying to express.”

Sombra leaned in. “Huh?” The fuck was she talking about?

She shut her eyes and exhaled. “Forgive me. I am aware that my speech can seem long-winded at times. I think I know what you want,” she said, in the bluntest and briefest manner possible, and wrapped her hand around the base of Sombra’s skull, letting her fingers run along the metal of her implants before pulling her in.

Sombra had not been expecting the kiss, at all, so it took a second for her to actually position herself once she realized what she was trying to do, but when she did, _cielos_. Satya was shy, tentative, new at this, and it took all of Sombra’s self-control not to push her onto the bed; God, she had wanted this so bad. Couldn’t even figure out where to put her hands so that she wouldn’t freak her out, and every muscle she touched tensed up, like she couldn’t move her mouth and the rest of her body at the same time and Sombra had to do all the work of nudging them into place. When Satya finally eased her away, pressing down a little on her shoulder, every one of her nerves was on fire. It wasn’t just her skin and her warmth and her curves; it was how awkward she’d been, and how earnest, like she didn’t know what to expect but tried it anyway, figuring it out as they went. The kiss got better at the end too—she stopped just as she was starting to relax and get into it. Naturally.

She couldn’t think of what to say.

Which was fine, apparently, because as they were staring at each other, still touching, still not sure where their hands were supposed to be, Amari burst into the room blabbering an apology, “My deepest apologies, Miss Vaswani; I wasn’t in my right mind; my behavior was unacceptable; I’ll m…” Amari stopped and blinked and stared at them, and Sombra had never seen the woman get embarrassed before. It was like she was looking at a different person. “Am…” She pointed. “Am I interrupting something?”

Satya turned to her, slipped out of Sombra’s loose grasp and stared at her for a full ten seconds. “No,” she said, wide-eyed. “In fact,” she pressed her fingers along Sombra’s waist, urging her out, “it was my understanding that Sombra was just about to see herself out.”

See herself out she did, and when she turned back as the door closed behind her, Satya was so nervous she couldn’t look her in the face. Sombra stayed in her room for the rest of the evening, only went back once to pick up her briefcase so she could pack for the next day. She didn’t look at her lenses or her computer, just flicked on the TV for the sake of having white noise, and lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d let someone touch her implants like that. She couldn’t remember the last time her lenses had gotten hacked. And it’d been a long long time since she’d gotten into a fight with someone over a woman, let alone over Angela Ziegler. She needed a break. A really long break. She also wanted to slap Mercy in the face, but that could wait. They had to deal with Tijuana and Mosfi and Al Rassan and Talon and Widowmaker, and she didn’t know what she was going to do about Satya.

She could get rid of her lenses and put on some new ones easy, and she could rip out the guts of her laptop and replace it with new stuff if she really needed to. She was already untraceable through most electronic methods, and though it was making her paranoid, she’d been fine over the past few years, all things considered. Amari might’ve been right. Maybe some asshole was pulling her leg, the same way she was freaking out dozens of people the world over. And Amari was right. She deserved it. Maybe she was getting too big for her britches.

“Where’s Hana,” she asked aloud, to no one in particular. Fuck technology. She just wanted to hear the squirt’s voice again.


	12. Chapter 12

The next few weeks were a blur. Whatever the Thing was, it was all bark and no bite. She trashed her old contact lenses and got some new ones. Her laptop seemed fine, and so were her assets. It wasn’t interested in money, and she didn’t have a single identity to tie anything to. Even though it seemed to know where she was, it didn’t seem to know what to do with her. It seemed… confused, maybe? Good enough. Sombra would start worrying once strange men showed up at her door demanding to come in, and she figured that would happen any day now, if that’s what this was about.

Hana complained about not hearing from Sombra, the next time she rang her up, so she gave her the abridged version of what had happened in Oasis. They were making good progress in the Sea of Japan, and she was due to return to Gibraltar soon. She’d only spend a few days there before returning to Busan—April maybe, she said. Sombra marked it down on her calendar. A physical one that she kept in her back pocket, in a little day planner. Everything she wore had a zillion pockets, anyway. She had space.

Tijuana was a fucking drag. Angela complained about the red tape—Angela practically lived off the stuff, though. Sombra pressed her about Amari, but it was slow going there too; their relationship got strained after Oasis, and Sombra had no sympathy for her. Satya introduced the idea of leaving for Oasis to her superiors, who started listening a little more closely after that. Mosfi did something, Sombra didn’t know what, but Satya got in contact with some people from Oasis and was able to negotiate with Vishkar to get the damn development built. Angela had a hand in it too. No surprise there.

Los Muertos wasn’t exactly amicable to the idea of the Vishkar development being built, and Sombra couldn’t do anything about how upset the gang was, honestly. She turned their attention to Lume and kept them busy raiding power plants and stuff. Maybe she could make some progress there. She kept the hacked lenses and shared what she could of it with the Sombra collective, just in case they had any idea how it might work. The Thing spoke in Omnic, a language of blips and robot noises and weird symbols that no human could understand that and omnics themselves were bound by some oath not to translate for anyone. Scholars had been able to link the symbols to a beep here or a boop there, but they still had no idea what it all meant. That was only a matter of time, though.

March came and went. Then Hana gave her a date for her return to Busan, where she was scheduled to take a brief vacation before returning back to work. The Tijuana development started construction, and Angela was deadlocked with Oasis regarding Widowmaker. Sombra made her promised visit to Busan, where she and Hana visited old-school arcades and ate weird Korean snacks and watched hundred-year-old anime in her huge movie-star apartment. Girl owned Macross, Mazinger, fifteen different Gundam series, and a whole collection of obscure mecha anime, some of which she had never even heard of. They stayed up till four in the morning just talking about life, about work, about games, about everything. It was too short. She missed the brat before she even set foot on the plane.

Late April, she visited Gibraltar to talk to Angela.

They met in the little coffee shop, actually, that Hana sat in the first time she called Sombra from Gibraltar. The place was tiny, barely had space for two tables, but Mercy waited her turn like anyone else and saved her a spot when she arrived.

She wore a tan blazer over a black blouse, and straight-leg jeans. Seriously, her fashion sense was just _misleading_. Sombra sat down after ordering herself a cappuccino and one of those chocolate croissant things.

“You changed your hair,” said Angela, whose hairstyle never changed.

Sombra ran a hand through her hair, and then to the back of her skull, where she met skin instead of cold metal. “Yeah,” she said. “Trying to change my style. Tired of being mistaken for a sixteen-year-old.” She would be twice that age, a year from now.

Angela laughed out loud. “If only I had your problems.” She looked pretty good today, not too tired, sunglasses tucked into the pocket of her blazer. Real casual.

“Did something happen with Amari?” she ventured. “You guys were kinda…”

Her eyes widened. “Fareeha,” she said. She looked away. “Um…” she murmured, covering her mouth, “you could say that.”

“I haven’t heard anything on that front since your girlfriend kicked me in the stomach in Oasis,” she grumbled, biting into her croissant. “Good to know I wasn’t the only one who thought you were being an asshole.”

Angela looked guilty. Sombra struggle to keep the grin off her face. Just deserts, or so the saying went.

“You been cheatin’ on her or what?” asked Sombra.

“I don’t have the time,” she said. “We had a long talk. A really long talk,” she laughed. “You know how long we’ve known each other? Almost twenty years. Since we were teenagers. Fareeha’s a huge romantic. Incredibly possessive. It’s great.” She laughed again, covering her mouth. “She only gets upset like that because she’s worried she isn’t good enough. And you know, of course she is. How could she not be? She’s everything I’m not. She hates diplomacy, but she has a knack for it.” Angela looked at her, and then looked down. “She doesn’t like her affairs to be messy, but she’ll acknowledge that more readily than her mother will. And I’m not involved against all these military operations against Talon, but someone has to do it.”

“I guess,” said Sombra.

“It was a poor first impression,” said Angela, smiling. “I know.”

“So?” She raised an eyebrow. “You all good now? Got everything squared away with tu novia?”

Angela looked a little away from her, maybe at her new hair. “I don’t think there was any danger of either of us leaving the other.” She paused. “But after learning about the affair with Amélie and volunteering herself for the Oasis assignment without getting all the information first—there are so many things I wish I could have told her earlier. She’s a very good person, but she pushes herself far too hard. She blames herself for everything, when it really wasn’t her fault…”

“It was yours,” said Sombra. “’Cause you spend all your time flirting with strangers over the phone even though you know your girlfriend is insecure. I mean,” she rolled her eyes, “you still _can_ , but maybe you can learn a thing or two and try to act a little more professional.”

“That’s boring,” said Angela.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I cannot believe that you’re older than me.”

“It’s… about more than just that, though,” she added. “I’m not just trying to indulge her feelings of guilt; she has a point. That’s why I… Well,” she looked down at the table, “I had originally intended to try to repeal the Petras Act. I’ve been neglecting that since you gave me Widowmaker’s records.”

She blinked. “That’s a really big deal.”

“If, say, Widowmaker is released into an Overwatch that is backed by the UN, then Overwatch will be pressured to subject her to the courts and put her on trial for her crimes. On the other hand, if she is released to an Overwatch whose activities are considered illegal in the first place…”

“Then the UN will be none the wiser,” said Sombra. “And you can negotiate with individual governments without having to necessarily deal with their laws. That goes for everything else Overwatch does, too. Without some kind of oversight, you’re free to do whatever you want as long as someone’s backing you up.”

“Right now, we’re too small for many countries to see us as a threat,” said Angela. “That’s a good thing. We’re not so far removed from terrorists in the eyes of the law, though. Mercenaries, at best. Amélie would most certainly be imprisoned if we repealed the Petras Act before negotiating the terms of her release from Talon.”

“And you just want her to be some ordinary citizen free to live out her life,” Sombra chuckled. “Amari might be sympathetic, but she doesn’t want you using your power for all the wrong reasons.”

“And I understand her concern. I was opposed to the formation of Blackwatch, as well.”

“You change your mind about that?” Sombra gnawed on her croissant. Stuff was good with coffee.

“Of course not. Without any laws to guide my actions, granted, who’s to say whether I am doing right or doing wrong, and by whose standards?” Angela’s gaze flickered down to the table. “By the time I am held accountable for anything I am doing right now, it might be too late.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong.”

“Good intentions will only get you so far,” she chuckled. “In a perfect world, I wouldn’t make any mistakes. But this world is far from perfect.”

“You would willingly limit your own power? Means you’d have to trust the people who are establishing those limits,” said Sombra.

“Which Fareeha does…”

“And I’m guessing you don’t. What does everyone else here think? At Overwatch, I mean.”

“Winston and Fareeha are the only ones who openly advocate it,” said Angela. “But it’s going to happen sooner rather than later. The first anniversary of the recall is barely a month from now. Either the UN cracks down on us, or they begin formal negotiations. And once that happens, I’ll have less time to spend on Amélie’s situation in Talon.”

“Man,” laughed Sombra, “and here I was thinking she was just jealous.”

“That too,” Angela winked, and Sombra’s stomach did a little flip. “Hopefully she understands now that you’re more interested in Vaswani than in me.”

“It’s mutual,” she said. “I… I think.” She looked up. Was it? Were they? “Construction’s going well. They just use them little robots, so not too many people on the site. Satya’s full-time in Tijuana now. Think I’m gonna visit her soon. Started advertising it and stuff.” Sombra sighed and leaned back in her chair. “They’re townhouses, though.”

“Oh?”

“Vishkar wouldn’t budge. They wanted apartments, and Satya fought for them to be actual houses. Their compromise was sticking them all together, but she revised her plan to make it work.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It’s not,” said Sombra. She started wringing her hands. “And Satya, you know, she’s not happy about it. Not sad about it. Just treats it like work.”

“Oh?” Angela tilted her head owlishly. “Tell me more.” Sure thing, shrink, thought Sombra.

“Well, you know.” She sipped her coffee. “Really loves her job, that one. Wants to bring me to Chandigarh so I can admire the architecture, keeps asking me if there’s any way I can improve the 3D modeling software they use. Vishkar’s already got their fancy made-up holograms, so I dunno how much I can do on that front. I’m a hacker, besides. Don’t work with graphics.”

“You keep in touch, though.” Angela clutched her own coffee cup, which was twice the size of Sombra’s. Must’ve been a VIP customer at this place.

“Well, yeah.” Sombra raised an eyebrow. “Why? You curious?”

She took a gulp of her coffee, and then put it back down. “Not really.” She looked away—far away. “Architecture, huh.”

“Yeah,” she said.

She ran her thumb along the cardboard sleeve of her cup. “Do you think it’s possible, what Vishkar is trying to do?”

“Build a better world?” asked Sombra. “I dunno.” She looked out the window, trying to find what Angela was looking at out there. “Guess we’ll find out.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

According to Mexican legend, the site of the city of Tenochtitlan—in what is now Mexico City—was determined by the Aztec god Huitzilopochtli, who marked the site for the Mexica people with an eagle with a snake in its mouth on top of a prickly pear cactus. Mexicans adopted that symbol as their national coat of arms, and put it on their flag way back in 1821. The great Aztec Empire started with a bird eating a snake on top of a cactus, on a little island in the middle of Lake Texcoco. There was something to be said about a single prickly pear cactus giving way to a whole bustling metropolis. The Zócalo, the central plaza of Mexico City, was built on the ruins of the original plaza of Tenochtitlan, where the people of that glorious old empire conducted their day-to-day business. Vishkar hadn’t built any of their glistening skyscrapers on top of it yet.

Some would say they were getting close though, with this new Tijuana development. The site wasn’t marked by an eagle and a snake and a cactus, but rather by some ratty old warehouses that drug cartels had been using to store their caches. They cleared the place out, then asked Vishkar to build something useful there. And Tijuana wasn’t such a bad place. No worse than what was happening on the other side of the border. Was worth a shot to gussy the surrounding area up, and if Satya was in charge of it, there was no way she’d just abandon her baby to the wild like that. She was happy about Tijuana, but her heart was still in India, in the slums of Hyderabad. She said, first thing after seeing the Tijuana property built, she’d fight to revive the Hyderabad project.

Vishkar stock rose after the municipal government signed off on the Tijuana project. Supposedly, Vishkar was risking profits building this thing. They were more afraid to lose Satya than to lose money, though. At least they had their priorities in order. The townhomes looked, well, like the single-family units Satya had planned originally—stucco siding and terracotta roofs, the front of each house ending in arches and curves like an old mission bell tower. There was a little private alcove for each front door, so you had to step in a bit, putting a little extra wall between you and your neighbors. It was cute, and there was a little space on the front steps for the little cactus gardens she had wanted to put, and plenty of windows in the houses for light.

Sombra visited Tijuana in mid-May, just before it started to get hot. It was on a Sunday, so Satya had the day off (or gave herself the day off, Sombra was never certain which). She showed her the site in the desert, where progress was slowly being made on the houses. Same white vans, but the little pod things had been replaced by heavy-duty construction equipment, sitting out there in the desert. Satya viewed the site with a surveyor’s eye.

“We’re on schedule,” she said. “As I expected.”

“You don’t look satisfied, though,” said Sombra. Satya was wearing yellow today, in a dress that ended in an orange gradient at the calves. It looked good on her—but then again everything did. Girl could make a garbage bag seem like the height of fashion.

Satya looked at her for a moment, studying her face. “I wonder if perhaps one of our Mexican architects would have been more appropriate for the job instead,” she said, turning back to the site. “Rio ultimately selected a Brazilian firm to construct their recent housing development.”

“Looks plenty Mexican to me.”

“But Vishkar is based in India.”

“What, you worried that that money isn’t going back into the Mexican economy?” Rich people were all the same, anyway. That sort of money would just get spent in America or Europe or something; it would never see the inside of a normal person’s pockets.

“Well,” she said, and motioned to Sombra to her chin. “Your intent was originally to defend the interests of the Mexican people, was it not?”

She grinned. “And I happen to be Mexican. I trust you. Not like Vishkar’s going to go away anytime soon, so might as well try to turn it to my advantage. Lots of violence and desperate people along the border. Smart idea to develop the place, open more businesses, offer more legitimate job opportunities. People only turn to drugs because they don’t see any better options. Trust me, not everyone joins the cartels because they want to.”

“It is a lucrative business, from my understanding.”

“And it destroys lives, and kills thousands of people every year,” Sombra sneered. “Trust me, drugs are evil.” She rubbed the back of her head. She still wasn’t used to not feeling her implants there. “But as long as people are going to keep paying for it, people are going to keep making it. Give ‘em a job in insurance or IT or something instead, and at least they won’t be, you know. Gunning down people in the streets in turf wars.”

Her brow furrowed. “You also were once a part of…”

“I’m from Los Muertos. Yeah.” She smiled a bit. “This goes against everything I stand for. Let some Indian megacorporation put down roots in Mexico and let ‘em dictate what’s best for us through their whole creepy hive-mind doctrine. It’s weird. I get that.” She looked back at the sites, at the flashy white equipment parked out in the desert. “Kind of like being… How does it go in English… between a rock and a hard place? Lesser of two evils? Would you rather be ruled by a gang or a megacorporation?” She pinched her chin. “Pretty dystopian, when you think about it. Plenty of legitimate business going on between countries, too. Mexicans cross to go shopping in America all the time. They got good stuff over there, in San Diego.”

“I have no intention of conquering the country through force or any other means,” said Satya. “Though I suppose some people may see the move as a means to control the local economy.”

Sombra rubbed her thumb against her first two fingers. “And power is all about the dinero. It’s not cool, but, well…” She folded her arms and sighed, massaging her forehead. “Don’t make me doubt myself now. Know I’m just some dumb bitch who did it for a pretty girl; Los Muertos can kiss my gay ass.”

Satya looked at her, startled.

“Gangs just aren’t the way to go,” said Sombra. “They bring order to places like, say, prisons and unstable third-world countries where there is none, but they’re thugs who thrive off of fear and violence. You work with them when they’re the ones with all the power, but megacorporations, you know, they’re technically subject to the law. They got lawyers. You can win against them in court, change laws, slap them with fines and know that in the future, they can’t pull that shit anymore. Gangs don’t care about… the law. They’ll listen when you kill all their members and only the cowards and squealers are left. Then they’ll say it’s the government’s fault, that they got no other options. No one’s doing enough to support them in their youth. Kinda like, well. Like me.” She covered her mouth. “You, I gotta say, you were pretty lucky.”

“I do consider myself fortunate,” said Satya. “But Vishkar has its flaws as well. You helped me to understand that. I hope that I, in turn, have managed to convince you of Vishkar’s value as an institution. And I trust that you will tell me when you are dissastisfied with my work or my career. I will do the same for you.”

“Thanks,” she said. She rubbed the back of her neck. “I mean it. Really.”

“I understand that.”

Sombra looked down. All business, this one. “Can we, like, not talk about philosophy and politics and stuff sometimes, too?”

Satya looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve spent a lot of time in Mexico by now, but you’re still pretty Indian. Or. I dunno, Vishkar’s like an entirely different culture.” Sombra looked her up and down. “I live here. C’mon. We gotta see the sights. You like the beach? I can bring you to Yucatán, Playa del Carmen, Cancún. Like history? We can go to Chichen Itza, Oaxaca, or maybe just Mexico City—plenty of interesting buildings to look at there. Honestly, haven’t been to all of these places myself,” she chuckled. “But you gotta visit Cancún at least once. Those all-inclusive resorts will give you anything you could possibly want.”

“You are exaggerating.”

“Well, yeah. But it’s a nice place to go and relax, if you can pony up the money. I know you don’t like being around people much, but, I dunno, won’t know if you don’t try, I guess.” Sombra, unconsciously, had touched her shoulder while she was blabbing on about her home country. She let go. “Oh, sorry.”

Satya watched her hand fall to her side. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I mean, I just… Wait.” She blinked at her. “I thought you had a whole thing about people getting all up in your space—”

“I trust you,” she said. “I will tell you if I find it uncomfortable. You do not need to assume that it is…” her brow furrowed, “unwanted.”

Sombra swallowed. “Well, in that case…”

“Use your discretion, please.”

She grinned. “Gotcha. No PDAs.”

Satya raised an eyebrow.

“You know, public displays of affection?” At Satya’s blank expression, she waved the question off. “Aw, never mind. You done surveying or whatever? Let’s go back to Tijuana.” She wrapped her arm around Satya’s shoulder and grinned. “Found a restaurant that I swear will be up to your spiciness standards.”

Satya smiled, wry in a way Sombra had never seen on her before. “I’d like to see them try.”

“Believe me, they will. C’mon.” She slipped her hand down Satya’s arm and intertwined their fingers. “Nos vamos.”


	13. epilogue

September in New York City was warm on her cold skin. In a place like this, she could trot around without being given so much as a second glance. She wore a long black raincoat, and knee-high boots, and had come for the express purpose of doing nothing in particular. Here, the buildings blocked out the sky, and great gusts of wind billowed through the streets. It made her feel anonymous, which she enjoyed, but also small, which she did not enjoy. Here was the place where fortunes were made, where dreams came true.

Her lips curled upward.

“Americans.”

She walked down a busy street, 10th and 45th, past trendy shops and restaurants. There was an address here where they were supposed to meet, some apartment of some sort. Sombra’s message had troubled her, had given way to intense discomfort. She had coded the message, but she knew exactly whom she was supposed to meet. She had even thought of ignoring Sombra, ignoring the note, ignoring _this_ , this feeble attempt at freedom. In a big, faceless city like this, Talon would have trouble finding her. She couldn’t shake this permanently ill feeling, though, this feeling that it would all go wrong, that it would be thrown right back into her face.

The nausea persisted as her eyes glanced along the doors and the numbers on them, along windowpanes and store displays, through metal support structures and in and around constant construction. She had been to New York countless times, and the place never changed. How one city could make one feel so claustrophobic and yet so isolated, she would never understand.

She stopped short at a brown apartment building. It was short, narrow, and completely unassuming. That looked to be right. She checked the address again on her phone. Whatever. The front door opened to a foyer, and she had to wait to be let in. She called Sombra once. Nothing. She called again.

“Err… Lacroix?”

“Oui.”

“Fuck,” she heard her hiss. “You wanna… You will? You sure? I mean, I can… You better be. Fuck, man, it’s up to you. OK. OK. Yeah, Lacroix. She’s, uh. She’s coming down to get you.”

Slowly but surely, she felt her heart begin to beat. Minutes passed, but they felt like hours. She checked her phone. She looked out the window. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She thought about leaving, again and again and again. She would go back, report to Talon. They would know. They would get rid of Sombra. And then where would that leave her? Nowhere, and with nothing.

“Chasse au dahu.” She was already here.

Perhaps it was not more than five minutes, but it felt much longer before she heard footsteps. The door to the inside of the building opened.

“Amélie.”

She didn’t look up.

“Amélie. It’s… It’s me. I’m sorry. Thank you for coming. I know this was organized in a rush.”

She felt sick, like something was clawing at her insides, scrabbling at her chest. “Dommage.” She was already here.

“Will you come inside?”

Nothing to lose, and everything to gain. She’d thought that once before, but now that she was here, well.

“Please. Before anyone else tries to enter.” Angela’s words fell on deaf ears.

She had so many things she wanted to ask, and even though Angela was speaking to her in English, all her thoughts formed in French. Surtout, pourquoi? Pourquoi es-tu ici? Pourquoi fais-tu ça? Pourquoi s’embêter?

She laughed, then. “C’est peine perdue.”

“No, it’s not,” Angela insisted, and then she reached out and started dragging her in by the wrist. “Allez. Parlons, s’il te plait.”

“Your French accent was always terrible,” she laughed. She grabbed Angela’s arm at the elbow and grinned. She always did look so small. Angela looked surprised for a moment, and she couldn’t imagine why. “Sombra is here?”

She nodded.

“Merde.” She tugged Angela back toward the front door. “Allons-y,” she said.

“Amélie?” She stayed put where she was.

“I’m not talking to that rat,” she explained. “Maintenant allons-y. Dépêche-toi.”

Angela listened to her. They slipped out onto the city streets, blending into the crowd. A few minutes later, et voilà. They disappeared.


End file.
